Kiana proved a sincere mourner. The character of Beatriz had so impressed him that he never after sought companionship among the females of his race. He grew to be a silent, reserved man, kind to all, but indisposed to interest himself in the usual duties of his station. Much of his time he passed alone, so that his people, in their poetical fancy, in speaking of him among themselves, called him Kamehameha, “the lonely one.” To Olmedo he particularly attached himself, and as he soon neglected the religion of his ancestors more than ever, it was supposed that he had imbibed many of his views. When he died, which took place at the expiration of ten years, there was a wailing over all Hawaii, such as had never been heard before. The people all grieved for him as for one they deeply loved. At his dying request they abstained from the usual barbarous demonstrations, by which they were wont to mark their sorrow. There were no sacrifice of property, no shaving of heads, no knocking out of teeth, or self-inflicted wounds. Above all, his memory was honored by a strict abstinence from the usual saturnalia, allowed on the death of a chief of the highest rank, during which sensuality and the darkest passions were permitted to riot unchecked. A decorous funeral took place, at which all the people assisted, with a solemn state heretofore unknown in their annals.

Hewahewa became a powerful and sagacious ruler. By the influence of Olmedo he was induced to mitigate many of the cruel rites of his mythology, though the belief of his people in Pele remained unshaken. The good monk had therefore the satisfaction to see that humanity gained by his presence in Hawaii, though his opinions affected but a few of the most intelligent minds. Indeed, so satisfied had he himself become of the inefficiency of strictly dogmatic teachings, that he seldom attempted to expound the mysteries of the Roman creed, but confined his discourses to such general ideas of the nature of divinity and the absurdity of idol worship, as might be comprehended by the simplest mind. The seed which he thus sowed was not without fruit. It slowly ripened during rather more than two centuries, gradually weaning the masses from their belief in demonology, until a short time before the advent of the American missionaries, in 1820, the nation discarded paganism and destroyed their idols. Hewahewa, the then high-priest, had inherited much of the inquiring, skeptical spirit of his ancestor. Publicly resigning his office, he was the first to apply the torch to the temples and their sacred contents. The accumulated gifts of national piety through the long centuries of heathenism were consumed in a day, while he and others proclaimed their belief in “one only Great God, dwelling in the heavens.”

Juan’s grief was violent, but he recovered before long his natural tone. As he could not recall the dead, he interested himself in the living, and was ever the same adventurous, impetuous being, admired for his gallantry and beloved for his generosity. Before his sister died, Liliha’s artless sympathy had touched his heart. After that event, he was more than ever drawn to her, and she to him. There was something in her youth and character so different from the wanton beauty and unrefined minds of Hawaiian women in general, that it commanded his respect. He must have some one to love, now his sister was gone, and he loved her. She returned his love as freely, and truly as the wood-dove returns its mate’s. There was no coyness or affected reserve. His manly qualities had now won her heart, still warm with its devotion to Beatriz, and she told him so, and gave it to him with her all. Juan asked of Olmedo the Roman Catholic rite to sanctify their union. Liliha assented, much wondering at first why the words of another were requisite to bind them closer together. They loved each other faithfully. How then could the bond be made dearer or truer? It was difficult to make her understand the necessity of the ceremonies and pledges with which Christians wed. With or without it, however, she was the same faithful, sincere, joyous creature, right in her instincts and quick in her perceptions. From their mingled blood descended several noted chiefs.

What of Olmedo? He lived long and usefully. The dying vision of Beatriz was never absent from his thoughts. It had become a holy message to him. Never did the good man let go by an opportunity for a kind act or comforting word. His counsels and instruction were freely given to all who applied. He lived apart from all others as he had always done, the same solitary chaste man of God. So wrapt was he ever in his reflections, inwardly conversing with his spirit-bride, that among the natives he was known as Kapiolani, “the captive of heaven.”

Beatriz was buried on the spot where she died. Olmedo erected a cross over her remains with the simple inscription in Spanish, “She is not here.” He had consigned her dust to its mother earth, but the spirit had gone back to the God who gave it. Daily at sunset he prayed over the grave. Often that dear face came back to greet and cheer him, and as he gazed, the same lowly whispered words, “for a little while,” fell on his ear. He would then go back with fresh courage and hope to his earthly home, fulfilling its duties as a sacred trust. When he died the tradition does not tell. The last it says of the strange priest is, that he was “the captive of heaven.”

THE END.