O’Hara in Love—Fae Fae’s Midnight Elopement—Chased—A Melodramatic Race for Life—The Innocence of Eve—Temptation—The Lost Bride—The Madness of Romance—Outbound for Honolulu.

IHAD just returned from an engagement where I had performed violin solos at the French Presidency concert, when I met O’Hara again. I was sitting in the wooden cafÉ at Selao at the time.

“Well, what’s the matter now?” I said, as O’Hara greeted me. I noticed that he looked rather mournful.

“Pal, I’m not going to be done; I’ve made up my mind to marry the girl Fae Fae, and be damned to her old nigger chief, Tautoa!”

One can imagine my astonishment as O’Hara blurted out the foregoing, for I had no knowledge whatever that he had seen Fae Fae since we had first seen the girl dancing round an idol in the forest. Slowly the truth came out. It appeared that O’Hara had been secretly meeting Fae Fae every night since the idol adventure. Things had come to such a pass that Fae Fae had agreed to bolt from the palace and marry him.

“What’s the trouble, then? Don’t you want to marry her?” said I, as O’Hara finished a glowing account of Fae Fae’s affection for him.

Then O’Hara made a further confession. It appeared that, in his usual careless way, he had been overbold, and so had spoiled his chance of wooing Fae Fae on the sly. He had gone to the Queen’s palace one night, and had serenaded Fae Fae on the guitar, like some old-time Spanish cavalier. This mad act had got Fae Fae into trouble, for she, in her impulsive way, had rushed from the palace stockade gate straight into O’Hara’s arms. It so happened that Tautoa, the chief to whom Fae Fae was betrothed, caught them in each other’s arms! And my chum had made matters worse, for he had managed to give Tautoa a black eye in the mÊlÉe that followed his mad presumption. It appeared that Fae Fae was now under strict surveillance. And, more, the head chiefs had laid a charge at the Government Presidency about the matter. And I believe that, even at that early date, a warrant was out for the arrest of O’Hara for disturbing the peace and forcing his presence on a native maid of royal blood. When O’Hara first unfolded his plans for abducting Fae Fae, I endeavoured to reason with him.

“It’s ridiculous, pal. You’re talking like a South Sea novel. You can’t seize a beautiful girl of royal blood, a princess, and carry her away from the palace like some old freebooter of the southern seas. Besides, we’ll be arrested by the gendarmes. And there’s the old Queen to be considered, her consort, her son, and, last and not least, Fae Fae’s legitimate lover, Tautoa.”

O’Hara used a quite unprintable word as I mentioned that last name. Then he stared as though I were mad, and said:

“Me! talking like a novel! I mean to have her.”

His eyes flashed as he blurted out his plans, telling me how easy it was to steal a girl and bolt off into the mountains! His chest swelled visibly over his thoughts. Holding up his glass of vile Papeete beer in one hand, melodramatic fashion, he lifted his chin and burst into some Irish song that told of maids clasped in the arms of impassioned lovers. As he finished his extemporization, the native girls who were standing at the shanty’s door, murmured, “Yorana! Yorana!” One dusky Tahitian belle, with large, lustrous eyes, crossed her bare, smooth arms and one timid knee, and, as she leaned against the door frame, gave a delicious pout, telling with admiring eyes all that a romantic maid can tell when gazing on a man whose favour she yearns to gain.

Though I had sought by wordy wisdom to persuade O’Hara to abandon his mad idea of abducting Fae Fae from Pomare’s palace, my heart was as enthusiastic about it all as was his own. The philosophy of the first fine careless rapture of youth was mine. I felt I was out in the world to live, if somewhat faintly, some of the glorious romance that poets wrote about. I well knew that the great crabbed philosophies were written by perished feathered quills on musty parchments, quills that once fluttered on living wings among the blossoming boughs. I knew that no pen, however inspired, could sing the impassioned philosophy of life as the throbbing red throat of the brown thrush can sing, or as O’Hara and I could live it. And, so, I must confess that the idea of the breadfruit sighing as we sat awaiting the sunset’s close and O’Hara impatiently watching for the favourable moment to abduct a Tahitian princess from a pagan palace on a South Sea isle, seemed the perfect music and the most noble endeavour of the Psalm of Life!

For several moments I compressed my brows as though in deepest meditation over the wisdom or folly of doing what O’Hara proposed.

He watched me closely, then suddenly gripped my hand.

“Pal, I’m with you; it shall be done,” I said.

My Irish comrade was satisfied. He knew me. I hadn’t stowed away on sailing and tramp ships, and lived with rats in coal bunkers on long voyages across tropic seas, without looking a bit determined when I had really made up my mind—well—to make a fool of myself!

I knew that Queen Pomare of Tahiti was allowed a certain amount of authority over her people. Though aged, she was an attractive, powerful-looking woman. It was also hinted by the officials that she still leaned towards her old creed. However that may have been, her retinue was made up of many old-time, ex-cannibal chiefs. One had only to go by night up the mountain slopes by Tamao to hear the low chanting of festival sounds coming from the solitary palace, sounds that were suspiciously like the wild night-wassailing of some frenzied heathenland!

The very next night we made our plans. O’Hara smacked me on the back, and called down the blessings of the Virgin on my head for helping a pal in trouble. It was finally settled that we should set out on our romantic, risky adventure after dusk, the very next day.

The inevitable hour arrived. I stood beneath the palms at the arranged spot.

“Are you ready, pal?” said O’Hara, as he met me.

“I am!” said I; and then added: “I suppose you are determined to attempt to abduct Fae Fae?”

“By the holy Virgin, yes!” he muttered.

“I can rely upon you that the maid knows of your intentions, and has agreed to bolt off into the mountains with you?” said I.

O’Hara gave a scornful laugh. It was then he told me that old Tapee had slipped, under the cover of night, into the palace, and had bribed one of the sentinels to deliver his billet-doux into Fae Fae’s hands.

“Ho! so that’s how you’ve managed it all, is it?” I answered.

I felt much relief; for I will admit that I knew O’Hara well enough to realize that he was likely to go off and seize a maid who knew nothing of his coming. At hearing that old Tapee was in the secret, I felt cheered up, and had greater faith in the result of the expedition. So off I went, down the forest track with O’Hara, on the wildest adventure into which I have ever plunged. We crept across the lonely Broome Road, and passed under the shades of the giant breadfruit trees. The stars were shining. Hardly a breath of wind disturbed the leaves of the mountain palms. O’Hara clutched me by the arms, as though he were afraid I might change my mind—and make a bolt.

“I’m game; don’t worry. I’ll see you through,” said I.

“Faith and be shure, you’re a good pal,” said my adventurous, amorous comrade.

Taking a large flask from his pocket, he handed it to me. Though not an imbiber of proof spirit, I took rather a bold nip, feeling that a little extra Dutch courage might not be amiss ere the night was out! We had arrived at the outskirts of the large cultivated space that half surrounded Queen Pomare’s palace stockade. As we passed through the arcades, constructed by Nature’s brooding handiwork of interlacing branches of tropical undergrowth twining round the first pillars of giant trees, my heart fluttered slightly.

“Is it some mad dream?” I thought, as we stood on the little moonlit slope that faced the palatial stockade of Pomare’s dwelling. Standing there, by O’Hara’s side, I peeped down the palm-terraced groves and spotted the large one-storied, verandahed building. It had an ominous look about it. Then O’Hara took me up a track where I had never been before.

“Keep in the shadows; don’t expose yourself, for God’s sake!” he whispered, as we stole onward.

We arrived among the thickets of dense bamboos growing by the wooden gate that was the side entrance to the palace. We stood perfectly still and waited. O’Hara gave a low whistle. Our hearts beat like muffled drums as we stood there. I looked at the dim outline of the palace. All was silent, phantom-like, in the rising moonlight. Only one small light flickered in the little latticed window-hole by the main entrance.

“What’s that light?” quoth I in a hushed voice.

“It’s where the Queen sleeps,” replied my pal.

“Is it really?” I whispered, as I thought in some mad way of the old romantic novels that I had read in my schooldays.

Yes, and there was I, sure enough, with a mad Irishman, outside a barbarian’s palace, awaiting the psychological moment to seize a heathen princess!

We must have stood there for half an hour before O’Hara gave the fourth whistle and said, “She’s being watched, that’s what it is; otherwise, begorra, she’d have come out of that gate before now.”

“What shall we do now?” said I, feeling fit for any emergency as the spirit commenced to take effect. The romance of the whole situation began to bubble, to thrill in my soul. Indeed, I had become as enthusiastic as O’Hara over the prospective elopement of Fae Fae.

“Old pal,” said he, “I’m going into the palace to seize her; that’s what I’m going to do!”

“Good Lord, really!” said I, as visions arose of dramatic scenes that might ensue when we got into that eerie-looking, big wooden building.

“Won’t they hear us—and club us?” said I.

“Not they! I’ve been in the palace before by night; I know where Fae Fae sleeps, and it’s no hard job to find her.”

“You do, do you!” thought I. Then O’Hara began to creep down the orange grove and, like some obsequious shadow, I followed.

Not a sound broke the primeval stillness as we curved round the small track that led to the main entrance of the palace. At that very moment a night bird, somewhere up in the mangroves, burst into song. It gave a sharp scream as we passed like shadows beneath the trees, and then flapped away. We both leapt back into the deeper gloom. Our hearts nearly stopped, for lo! the bushy head of some high chief suddenly poked out of the half-open gate at the main entrance. We watched that big mop-head and fierce-looking face turn to the right and left, peer into the moonlight a moment, then we saw it withdrawn from view.

“I’d like to give that cove one on his napper!” whispered O’Hara, with a levity which I thought considerably out of place at such a time. “I know him; it’s old thin-legs, the night sentinel. I’ve tried to bribe the old wretch, but ’twasn’t any go.”

“Oh!” said I, for the want of saying something better at such a moment. Indeed, the most poignant phrases that the English language can twist together could not have expressed all that I felt.

“What do you intend doing now?” said I.

“Why, I’m going to slip into the palace and see Fae Fae in her private chamber. She’ll soon come when she sees us.”

“Are you sure she won’t scream? Don’t you think it’s a bit unwise, in the night-time, like this?”

“Blimey ducks, no!” chuckled O’Hara. Thereupon I made up my mind to seize the blessed Queen herself, if O’Hara wished me to do so.

To tell the truth, I had wondered if Fae Fae would not take fright at seeing me with O’Hara. It appeared that my comrade had wooed Fae Fae considerably in the little time he had known her. But I had only seen her twice—and there I was, bound for her sleeping-apartment in the dead of night.

Once again we moved on. Arriving before a little door that led into a roomy apartment adjoining the west wing of the palace, O’Hara gently pulled another door open. We both crept in. It was nearly pitch dark; the faint rays of moonlight, peeping through chinks in the roof, just helped us to grope along. As we moved stealthily across the floor, I stumbled over a large calabash. We stood still, breathless with suspense. I looked around: on the walls, dimly revealed by the moonlight, hung old war-clubs, spears, and other ancient heirlooms of the Pomarean dynasty. We heard a door open, then it was shut again, for the sounds of distant laughter and heathen voices swiftly ceased. It came from somewhere on the other side of the courtyard, that portion of the palace where Queen Pomare and her suite dwelt. Once more we crept on. Passing across another room, we suddenly came out into a small courtyard.

Turning to me, O’Hara whispered:

“You see that door over there, on the far side of that wooden building? Well, it opens into a long corridor, and at the far end is the chamber where Fae Fae sleeps.”

I nodded.

“Are you game to follow me, pal?” he added.

“I am!” said I, as I clutched my revolver and thought how “gamey” we might both soon be if we were discovered.

I don’t know if my story sounds like a sketch from some semi-comic opera, but I do know that it was a serious thing for us to attempt to get into a native girl’s bedroom as we did that night. But, mind you, I believed implicitly in O’Hara’s good intentions. Never once had I observed him take a liberty with a maid. He had the Celtic temperament, but was clean-minded, notwithstanding his sins. We opened the door that led down the corridor to Fae Fae’s bed-chamber; then we took a rather bold nip at the flask of whisky. In complete obedience to O’Hara’s whispered directions, I at once went down on my knees, then, hand over hand and knee over knee, we began to travel down that dark, narrow corridor! A stream of moonlight crept through the airholes that were in the roof. I could just discern O’Hara’s ragged coat-tails in front of me as I blindly groped along behind him. I saw the dim shadows of the palms waving about, silhouetted on the wooden walls as the winds stirred the forest trees outside. Arriving about half-way down the corridor, I whispered to my comrade:

“Supposing she’s asleep? Do you intend to seize her whilst she lies in bed? Won’t she scream if she sees me with you, and awaken the whole palace?”

I knew what English girls would do if they suddenly awoke and saw two sunburnt tramps on their knees, peering round the edge of their bedroom door at the dead of night.

My relief was considerable when O’Hara whispered:

“Don’t worry; Fae Fae expects me, and it’s not her who is going to scream.” Then, in a tense whisper, he added: “Besides, she sleeps alone, away from the rest of the palace folk.”

“Thank God for that much!” thought I, as we once more started to creep, like two monstrous slugs, down the floor of the corridor.

O’Hara suddenly stopped. My heart gave a slight flutter. I knew we had arrived outside Fae Fae’s chamber. I heard my comrade give two soft taps—so, “tap!” “tap!”—on the door’s bamboo panel with his knuckles. Each tap seemed to echo and re-echo down the silent corridor. I was thankful that I had drunk deeply from the whisky-flask which O’Hara had so thoughtfully handed me. Had we been about to seize a heathen man, or even an old woman, the matter would have seemed different. Notwithstanding that I had knocked about the world, the thought of so rudely disturbing a maiden’s slumber and those romantic ideals which I can find no name for here, had still a great influence over me. Consequently, I paused on the threshold of that chamber. She was an innocent girl, none need doubt that much. To the reader, who has never plunged into such a midnight venture as I tell of here, I can confidently say that he would require a little artificial stimulant to buck his courage up were he placed under like circumstances. There’s something eerie in creeping into a semi-heathen palace and crawling down an interminable corridor to seize a maid as she sleeps in her chamber. And all this, mind you, not for one’s self, but for another! And, again, there was not only the danger of detection by that heathen crew to reckon with, but also the French officials, who would assuredly give us penal servitude in the calaboose (jail), or transport us to Noumea should they catch us on this mad venture. But for the fact that we had youth’s superabundant confidence on our side, I am sure we should never have ventured on such an escapade. I recall the breathless hush of that supreme moment when O’Hara once more gently tapped the maiden’s door.

“Fae Fae!” he whispered.

How eagerly we listened! Only a faint moan came from the forest palms just outside, then all was silent again.

“Begorra, she’s not there,” came in an agonized whisper from O’Hara.

Our hearts thumped—we heard a rustling sound, which resembled a noise made by someone yawning. An uncomfortable suspicion flashed through my brain: Had O’Hara mistaken the room? and was that chamber occupied by some mighty chief?

“What’s that?” I said in a tense whisper, as that eerie sound came again, with the soft patter of bare feet. “Look out, pal!” I whispered, instinctively ducking my head in some vague idea that a club was falling on it!

O’Hara tapped again, then softly called the maid’s name. I looked up, my heart in my mouth, as we crouched there, both on our hands and knees. The door creaked. We watched—and it was being slowly opened. Through a chink, that was no wider than two inches, peeped two sparkling eyes, half hidden by dishevelled tresses—it was Fae Fae!

In a swift, hoarse whisper O’Hara said:

“It’s only us, Faey.”

At once the door opened a little wider, and two astonished eyes looked down upon us, both there on our hands and knees!

“Oh, Messieurs, you be killed!” she whispered, as she lifted her hands and gazed upon us in an awestruck manner.

Slinking there, behind O’Hara’s coat-tails, I gazed up at the maid through his armpits!

“Didn’t you hear me whistle, Faey dearest?” said my comrade, as the astonished girl still stared at us in fright.

“No, Monsieur Hara, I sleep fast,” she said, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

At this candid confession, O’Hara looked crestfallen. I, too, must confess that a dash of cold water seemed to have been thrown upon the fires of my romantic soul. I pinched my leg to convince myself that I was not dreaming. It was real enough, no dream at all. It was a solid me intruding into a girl’s bed-chamber at the dead of night, ready to clutch the maid and help my comrade to carry her away into the mountains!

“Come, Fae Fae, don’t go back on me, darlint,” wailed O’Hara, as the pretty maid looked about in a bewildered way, as though hesitating as to what she ought to do under such distressing circumstances.

At this moment I poked my head up from behind O’Hara and revealed my physiognomy clearly in the shifting moonlight.

“Oui! oui! Awaie!” she woefully ejaculated, as she recognized my impertinent presence. Then she peered again, and said: “Tre bon! it’s nicer fiddle man!”

I rose to my feet as though I had just received a knighthood, and bowed with such courtesy as I felt was due at such a moment. I may have blushed, but I do know that my heart warmed considerably to the possibilities of the whole business. Much of the girl’s apprehension seemed to have vanished at discovering that it was I who had accompanied O’Hara on my hands and knees down that damned corridor! Ah me! As she stood there bathed in moonlight, her tiny blue chemise ornamented with flowers, I quite envied O’Hara. The hibiscus blossoms in her mass of rich-hued hair were crushed on that side where her pillowed head had lain but a moment before in sleep. I felt the thrill of her presence. Standing there in the gloom, I saw O’Hara put forth his arms towards Fae Fae.

“Come on, Faey,” he whispered.

Leaning forward in the gloom, Fae Fae misjudged the distance, and placed her mouth on my flushed cheek. Then it really seemed that the tender pressures of our groping hands got inextricably mixed up. I became bolder. Looking into the girl’s face, I said in an appealing way:

“Come, Fae Fae, do come!”

I felt that, to creep into a heathen’s palace to help a maid to elope, and for the maid to refuse to come, would cast a slur on my idea of chivalry and romance such as I could never forget. I was immensely relieved when I noticed Fae Fae stoop and start shuffling about her chamber floor. She was hastily gathering together her spare clothing!

“Awaie! Messieurs!” she cried softly. Then she held up a small bundle, and blushed through the brightness of her eyes. Gallantly I leaned forward and clutched those delicate garments that made up Fae Fae’s trousseau! As for O’Hara, he grinned and then stared in surprise, as he observed my correct manner when I bowed and offered Fae Fae my arm. (He hadn’t read Alexandre Dumas, Byron, Shelley, and Keats, and slept with his dreaming head on a volume of Don Quixote.)

Suddenly a door banged somewhere across the palace courtyard; we distinctly heard distant sounds of laughter and indistinct voices. Then silence came; the door had been closed again.

“Come on, there’s no time to lose,” I whispered, as I clutched the pretty sandals that Fae Fae hurriedly picked up from beneath her bamboo couch. Down the corridor we crept. As Fae Fae caught hold of my hand I returned the gentle pressures of that frightened Tahitian maid. I gathered that she did not realize the seriousness of the business. As we stole along, a puff of wind came down the narrow corridor, and her mass of unkempt hair floated softly against my face. I felt as though some beautiful creation of romance had materialized before my eyes, as a silken tress touched my lips. Only O’Hara’s heavy breathing, as he led the way, and Fae Fae’s frightened gasps, made me realize that the whole business was real enough. We all gave a deep sigh of relief as we stole out into the night. A mighty alarm had seemed to thunder down the silence of that palace corridor. Then O’Hara informed me that he had missed the track whereby we had entered the palace. It was unfortunate, for it necessitated our all climbing over a huge wooden wall that ran along the south side of the track that led to the entrance of the palace stockade.

“Come along, Fae Fae,” said I cheerfully, as the cool air of the moonlit night and the glory of physical movement raised my spirits. O’Hara clambered up to the top of the wall first; releasing Fae Fae’s trembling hand, I followed. It was not hard climbing, for the huge, upright logs were thickly overgrown with tough vine. “Look out!” said I, as I stood in that elevated position and nearly stumbled. Squatting side by side up there, we looked down. Fae Fae stared up at us; she was half hidden in the forest ferns. O’Hara and I clasped each other’s hand to get a better grip, then, bending down, we very carefully gripped hold of Fae Fae’s extended hands and slowly hauled her up to the top of the wall.

“Oh, Messieurs, it’s tellible!” murmured the frightened girl as she stood high up there beside us. She shivered as she put forth her arms in fright to retain her balance. Her tiny, blue diaphanous robe was out-blown as the night wind sighed across the forest height.

“Don’t be frightened, Miss Faey,” I murmured, as the girl swayed in terror, pressed my hand, and looked appealingly into my eyes as we stood up there.

O’Hara and I gripped her carefully by the arms, swayed her to and fro in space for a second, then dropped her softly down into the mossy growth and fern of the forest on the other side of the wall.

“Awaie!” she cried, as she looked up at us.

Then my comrade and I slid gently down, like threaded spiders, into the mossy scrub.

For a moment we stood breathless, as Fae Fae clung to our arms, trembling in fear. To the right lay the main track; once across that, we could bolt into the forest depth, where we would be safe. I awaited O’Hara’s signal. I was taking no risks. O’Hara knew the place too.

Suddenly my comrade said, “Now!” and off we went, rushing like three phantoms across the exposed moonlit track.

“Holy St. Patrick!” breathed my chum, as we stood behind the thick clump of bananas that divided us from the twelve yards that we must yet pass ere we were out of sight of the main entrance to the palace.

We were suddenly paralyzed by hearing a terrific yell. We had been observed! That yell smashed to atoms all my indecision as to what was best to do. Metaphorically speaking, it arrayed me in armour, equipped me with all the necessary weapons to fight a desperate battle for life and for the protection of the trembling girl beside me.

I looked down the track: out of the main entrance had rushed three stalwart Tahitian chiefs. They were quivering with excitement. We remained standing still. I felt strangely calm.

“We’re in for it now,” said I.

O’Hara shook his fist and picked up a large stone. A glorious feeling of exultation thrilled me at the thought of the coming race for life. It was just in my line, whereas creeping on my hands and knees down a corridor was dead against the grain.

Fae Fae gave a faint cry. It roused us. Simultaneously we dashed away into the depths of the breadfruits and coco-palms. What a sight!—Fae Fae, bare-footed, encumbered only by her pretty native mumu (chemise) of scanty width, raced ahead, as O’Hara and I, our arms held high in racing attitude, puffed on behind!

“Follow her, pal; she knows the way,” murmured O’Hara, as Fae Fae’s dusky flying heels glittered in the moonlight about twelve yards ahead of us! Though I admired that impulsive Irish comrade of mine, I inwardly thought what an ass he was; for, though our pursuers were hard on our heels, I distinctly heard him chuckling to himself, making ecstatic remarks about Fae Fae’s swaying figure as she fled down the forest track! I turned my head to see how it went with the enemy. I was extremely disconcerted at observing them coming up over the ridge of the rising ground, quite distinct in the brilliant moonlight. A giant of a fellow was gaining ground, was far ahead of the other pursuers.

“Wait!” I shouted in O’Hara’s ear. “We must frighten them somehow.” I knew, well enough, that we were in the wrong, that we could be legally charged with a serious, very serious offence. I felt some sad, prophetic pain of a club falling on my romantic skull and my head tumbling into the official guillotine basket. This sudden visualizing freak of my imagination was made the more vivid through my seeing Fae Fae racing along the track like some frightened child (she was little more than a child in mind), as I lumbered on behind her, clutching her delicate trousseau under my arm. Indeed I felt the guiltiest of the three. Fae Fae was a child of the forest; O’Hara was another child, since he was madly in love; while I?—well, instead of giving wise counsel, I was there, an accessory before and after the fact, and with the maid’s scanty wardrobe under my arm! Preposterous!

“Go on; never mind me,” said I, when O’Hara suddenly stopped dead short. There, on the track, I held up my revolver and fired over the head of the mop-headed savage who was a hundred yards ahead of the others. They slowed down. I saw the leader wave his hand, and heard him yell out some words in his native lingo, something that ended with the words “Fae Fae!”

On hearing that name, O’Hara gasped out:

“Why, it’s him, that damned Tautoa, who wants to marry my Faey!”

It was with immense relief that I noticed that the pursuers had slowed down and were apparently frightened at discovering that I was armed. We couldn’t outrun Fae Fae. O’Hara and I had all we could do to catch up to her as she still raced on, speeding round the curves of the forest track. Indeed at times we could not see her at all, knowing that she preceded us only because of the tiny, smoke-like clouds of dust that we raced through, the diamond-like powder that her bare, flying feet stirred and left behind as she raced along the track. Sometimes the path wound into the full light of the moon; it was then that we sighted Fae Fae’s flying figure and floating hair as we thundered along behind her. I am sure the scene must have looked like some burlesque or the rehearsal for a cinematograph picture. As we passed the deep lagoons by the shore, weird shadows whipped across the imaged, broken moons that were shining in the still, glassy depths! For, as the fireflies danced in the leafy bamboo glooms, I saw Fae Fae’s image, with flying hair, race across the lagoon’s surface to the right of us, though she, herself, had passed round the bend and was quite out of sight! To the southward stretched, for miles and miles, the palm-clad slopes. It seemed as if we were racing across a vast landscape oilpainting! To the north-west rose the pinnacled range of La DiadÈme. We had reached the Broome Road. As we raced across it we just missed a crowd of hurrying Chinamen who worked in the cool of night in the plantations of vanilla, coffee, sugar-cane, and orange groves.

“Hon kong ching chi chow kow!” yelled a straggler, as his pig-tail tossed up, and he fell sprawling in the dust.

“One for his napper!” breathed O’Hara, as he recovered his balance and we rushed across the plantation. We were safe! There stood Tapee’s bungalow to the left of us. All would have gone well had not O’Hara stumbled as he leapt across the stream. He gave a yell of pain, and fell crash on his face.

Fae Fae gave a cry. Then she and I, breathing heavily, picked our comrade up. He groaned as I examined him. I was relieved to find that he had done no more than sprain his ankle. At this moment a figure emerged from the shadows—it was Tapee.

“You all right?—where’s Fae Fae?” said the old man, as he peered into the jungle depths around us. Fae Fae, who was hiding behind the dwarf coco-palms, heard Tapee’s voice, and revealed herself. On sighting the girl, the old idol-worshipper grinned from ear to ear.

“You clever wahine to run way from palace with kind white mans.”

It appeared that O’Hara had acquainted the chief that he was going to get Fae Fae to elope with him from the palace that night. Tapee was delighted to be of assistance to O’Hara, for he had some grudge against Tautoa, the chief who was to marry Fae Fae. He was also pleased to annoy Pomare, who had refused to allow Tapee to attend the palace festivities.

When I informed Tapee that the gendarmes were already on our track, he simply rubbed his hands and grinned as though the trouble was over. Seeing O’Hara standing on one leg and holding the other off the ground, Tapee and I escorted him into the bungalow hard by. He groaned as we laid him down on the bed mats. On pulling off his boot I saw that he was quite out of action so far as walking was concerned—his ankle was swollen to the size of an orange, a lump on the off-side.

Fae Fae, noticing the injury, gave a wail of despair. Then Tapee, to my surprise, looked up and said:

“Oh, Messieurs, what shall we do? The popy priest am waiting to marry Fae Fae and Papalagi O’Hara all this whiles down in Papeete.”

This was the first intimation I had received that O’Hara had made the necessary preparations to have a Christian marriage with Fae Fae. It was just like him, for, notwithstanding his being a scallawag, he was ever ready to do the right thing at the right moment.

“Go, quick, and let the priest know that the marriage is put off till another night,” moaned O’Hara. And so Tapee went off to postpone the wedding. Fae Fae lifted her hands to the roof and wailed out, “Saprista! Aloe, tua” and “Mon Dieu!” (Fae Fae spoke broken French as well as English). I was more than glad to see that wedding postponed. I felt it was quite enough for one night’s work to abduct the maid in readiness for the wedding, and, moreover, Fae Fae was trembling like a leaf and appeared very neurotic. She was a very high-strung girl. Indeed I saw how artful-hearted Tapee had played with ease on the girl’s romantic, sensitive temperament.

When Tapee returned, about half an hour after, he at once prepared supper. We were all famished. We closed the door and bolted it. Tapee said that on his way back after seeing the priest, he had heard a lot of French officials discussing Fae Fae’s disappearance from the palace. O’Hara groaned and Fae Fae wept, while I moodily ate mangoes and stewed, juicy fruits, and wondered what my relatives would think when they heard that I had been hanged for abducting maidens in the South Seas! We passed a most wretched night. I dozed off once, and dreamed that the world was a vast guillotine, with me sitting in its receiving-basket as Time, and all the stars danced sorrowfully around me, ere the blade fell and severed my connection with mundane things. When I awoke, O’Hara was looking very ill; but he gave a faint smile as Fae Fae held his head and passed her fingers through his curly hair. At daybreak Tapee went out and hired a kind of char-À-banc owned by a wizened Chinaman. We took the Chinaman into our confidence, gave him a good tip, and promised him a lot more than we could ever give him. To tell the truth, if a Chinaman gives one his word of honour, he seldom breaks it. I’d sooner trust a Chinaman than many pious people whom I’ve unfortunately met. When we got into that wagon the bottom nearly dropped out. It was old and rotten. The horse was an object for pity; it moved at a mile an hour, and the angles of its bones looked decidedly like the angles of the guillotine. We crouched in the bottom of the cart, safe from the vigilant eyes of the officials who were on the look-out for us. When we arrived in the Chinese quarter of Papeete, I hired a room in a fan-tan den, and O’Hara helped me to put up a bed. When all was comfortable, O’Hara fell asleep, and I crept out into the forest and went back to Tapee’s bungalow. When I arrived there, Fae Fae was weeping bitterly. I saw that she had become sane, and regretted her flight from the palace. She was evidently terrified in her reflection over the punishment she would receive from the Queen’s hands. I tried my best to soothe her.

“Oh, Monsieur, I so unhappy. Poor Monsieur Ilisham hurt himself too. I feel lone, and Queen Pomare find me out and punish me, I know, I know!” she wailed.

“Don’t worry, Fae Fae,” said I soothingly, as she gave me a tender, sympathetic glance. I saw the tears in her eyes as she stared up at me through her dishevelled tresses. Ah, beautiful hair it was! The room was dimly lit by the latticed window-hole. She did look a plaintive creature as she sat there swaying in her grief. I smelt the sweet odours of the languishing flowers that still dangled, clinging among her scented tresses, when she placed her hand caressingly on my shoulder, and murmured:

“Oh, take me back to palace, Monsieur.”

We were close together, her eyes gazing beseechingly into mine. Her smooth brow, bright in the glory of her vanilla-scented hair, was near my lips. God knows that I would not betray the trust reposed in me by a good comrade; but I have my weaknesses. Her hand pressed mine. I somehow tripped forward, and, in some inexplicable entanglement of the senses, my lips touched hers. Ah me! She gazed deeply into my eyes. In a moment I realized what I had done. I hung my head as she gazed on, and then, to my astonishment, she swiftly lifted my hand and kissed it passionately. I thought of O’Hara, probably asleep on his bed-mat and of the implicit trust he reposed in me. I made a tremendous effort so that my outward demeanour should have no twinship with the turmoil of conflicting thoughts within me. Inclining my head affectionately, but at the same time forcing a melancholy, sober aspect to my blushing visage, I managed to blurt out:

“Oh, Fae Fae, child, my heart is heavy in the thoughts of your sorrows. I don’t know how to advise you!”

It was a near go, I know. Indeed, had I partaken a little more liberally of the toddy that Tapee had given me from his huge flask, my memory of the whole business would not have made such pleasant reading, I feel sure of that. Sober reflections made me realize that, under the circumstance, the best thing for the girl to do would be to go back to the palace. I fully realized the clumsy way we had conducted ourselves and the seriousness of the gendarmes being on our tracks.

At this moment Tapee opened the door and walked in. I was relieved by his presence, but, to my consternation, Fae Fae’s attitude towards me remained the same! Kissing the girl again, as though she were a child, I looked her straight in the eyes, and said:

“I must get away and see O’Hara; it is unsafe for me to stop here.”

The girl responded to this only by falling on her knees before me.

“Oh, Monsieur, stay! stay!” she cried in a plaintive voice.

It was then I noticed the wild, strange stare of her eyes. I gave Tapee an interrogative glance. He touched his brow significantly. I did not quite comprehend his meaning at the time, but subsequent events soon enlightened me as to the state of Fae Fae’s mind. Promising Tapee and the girl that I would return soon, I hastened from their presence and went back to O’Hara. He was awake and in great pain when I arrived at our diggings. I sat with him till dusk, and all through the night poured cold water on his sprained ankle.

I well knew that while he was lame we had little chance of clearing away, if the gendarmes heard of our whereabouts.

Once again, at O’Hara’s request, I went off to see how Fae Fae was. Arriving at Tapee’s bungalow I found him trembling and muttering in a strange way.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“Oh, Masser, she gone! She run away in night; she go kill herself, I sure!”

After the old fellow had rambled on a good deal, I gathered that he had awakened at daybreak, and, discovering that Fae Fae had flown, had spent the morning in searching likely places where she might have hidden herself. I at once got Tapee to send a trusted native friend up to the palace to find out if Fae Fae had returned home. After a while the native came back full of excitement, and informed us that the Queen and her retinue of chiefs had gone off to the French Presidency to inform the officials that Princess Fae Fae had been abducted from the palace by two white men. That bit of information seemed to waken me up. I left Tapee at once.

“It’s no good using language like that,” I said, chidingly to O’Hara, as I rubbed his ankle with coco-nut oil.

By the next day he could just manage to limp along. He was determined to search for Fae Fae, though I had tried to persuade him to do otherwise. That same day he seemed very depressed as he sat under the palms singing to me. (He always sang when he was feeling melancholy.)

“She’ll do herself some injury,” he said.

“She’ll turn up,” I said soothingly, though I must admit I felt dubious about it all. I thought of the girl’s strange manner, how she had danced round that idol; I was convinced that she was no ordinary girl.

That same evening we walked into the forest near Katavio. We were intending to meet Tapee, who had informed us that he would be in his old hut in that part of the forest where his idol was hidden.

I tried to cheer O’Hara up as we passed under the arch-like banyans that grew on the outskirts of the wooded country. Then we sat down by the lagoons till darkness came. Suddenly we were startled by hearing far-off sounds like the singing of a woman’s beautiful voice. I jumped to my feet. There was something eerie about the night as we listened. Then it came again, the long, low, sweet refrain of an old-time Tahitian himine. Bucking up our courage we stole forward, making for the direction where the singing came from. Even the winds seemed hushed, not a sound disturbing the silence of the forest. It seemed as if O’Hara and I walked a stage whereon some thrilling South Sea drama was being enacted; the tall trees looked unreal, even the wide roof over us might have been some tremendous dark canvas bespangled with stars. The weird, flute-like cadenza of the nightingale up in the branches of the flamboyants did not destroy the unreal effect as it flew off.

“This way,” I whispered, as my comrade limped along.

We were standing on the wooded elevation just before the spot where we had first caught Tapee worshipping his wooden image. Moonrise, somewhere to the southward, behind the mountains, was sending a pale brilliance over the rugged landscape. That weird singer of the forest, or whatever it was, had ceased to sing. Then it came again, a weird, tender wailing! O’Hara’s big form was leaning against mine when the surprise came: staring there between the tree trunks, we saw the old idol again and, careering around that hideous wooden deity, that which looked like a phantom girl of the woods! I had travelled the world over and seen some strange things, but had never seen so weird a sight before.

“It’s Fae Fae,” said O’Hara, as he stumbled on his sprained ankle.

“Impossible!” I responded in a mechanical way.

“She’s dead, and has come back to dance where she first met me!” re-wailed my love-sick Irish comrade.

The girl did look misty! I looked and wondered, notwithstanding my cynicism over such things as ghosts. I felt that perhaps it was Fae Fae’s ghost dancing before us! I had read of such things, and had met old women who swore they had seen the dead doing strange, unaccountable things.

We both stood still, strangely calm, as the girl whirled and sang in her wild career, her diaphanous robe fluttering out to the breeze or clinging closely to her misty-like figure. Then she lifted her arms and moved towards us, her eyes wide open, apparently staring into vacancy. The flowers in her unkempt hair, all crumpled, gave the one touch that told of something real. It was evident that she had not observed us, for in another moment she was again whirling around the space, chanting to the deaf, wooden ears of the massive idol. As she passed by us she came so close that I felt the rush of cool air caused by her swift movements. Though her figure looked ghost-like, I was still extremely sceptical. I knew that mortality, when transformed into that blessed spiritual state that is supposed to follow death, must of a necessity be unable to create any impression through coming into contact with the material elements of mortality. Indeed, I knew that singing itself was an impossibility, since it necessitated an inflection and perfect contraction in the throat of the singer. I resolved to seize the first opportunity to substantiate my human suspicions as to the possibility of the figure before us being a transfiguration of her whom we had once known in mortal shape as Fae Fae. The opportunity presented itself forthwith. Fae Fae’s apparent wraith, with arms outspread, the body swerving with rhythmical beauty, was still flitting noiselessly round the small space, coming toward us!

“Keep back!” I whispered to O’Hara, who was staring over my shoulder, endeavouring to get a better glimpse of the figure. On she came, seemingly draped in veils of the moonlight that was falling through the overspreading, dark-fingered palm-leaves. Her lips had begun a chant, her head turned slightly sideways as on her tripping flight she approached and stared at the mighty, yellow-toothed, wooden deity. In a moment she was upon us. I swiftly thrust forth my hand as she flitted past.

“A phantom!” I gasped, as my fist passed right through the folds of her attire and then seemingly through her form! For a moment I could only stare. A vulture screeched high in the banyans. O’Hara crossed himself and murmured a portion of some Ave Maria, terror-struck. “Impossible! preposterous!” thought I to myself. Then I remembered how I had distinctly felt the material of her robes appeal to my sense of touch as my fist apparently went through her figure; yes, something real and material was there. I had simply missed touching her solid figure; that was it, I felt sure. “O’Hara,” I whispered, and my voice sounded cracked as I muttered, “it’s no ghost; it’s her, Fae Fae, right enough. She’s mad, out of her mind!”

“No! Mad!” groaned O’Hara, as he jumped down from the banyan bough where he had leapt in fright, and peered between the breadfruit trunks. I tried hard to hold him back as he rushed forward; but it was too late—a piece of his ragged coat came off in my hand!

Fae Fae gave a terrified scream as she spied him.

“It’s me! your O’Hara, darlint!” yelled my comrade, as the girl, turning round, stared at him in a wild, vacant way. Then, with a frightened scream that thrilled us with horror, she fled away into the depths of the forest.

I also rushed off, following O’Hara, who bolted after her. He had not gone far when he tripped and fell with a crash. He gave a groan as he held up his afflicted foot. I at once came to a standstill. I was not in the mood to go chasing after a mad native girl. Besides, I had had about sufficient of O’Hara’s love affairs. O’Hara was inconsolable that night. At daybreak we were up and ready to go forth in an endeavour to hear something about Fae Fae. Indeed, O’Hara seemed more determined than ever to find her. We had at first intended to go and see Tapee; but Tapee saved us that trouble by suddenly walking into our apartments. Before we could get a chance to tell the old chief of our adventure with Fae Fae, he had started gabbling like one demented.

“Fae Fae, she go mad! and, O Papalagi, that Tautoa, her lover, he have found her crying in the night in the forest, all ’lone,” said the old dark man.

“No!” we both exclaimed in one breath.

“Ah, yes, Messieurs, it all-e-samee true. Fae Fae am now back in palace, they got her now, and Queen Pomare am in terrible rage with white mans. I knower that she am going to send gendarmes after you and Monsieur O’Hara.”

The way O’Hara raved and carried on is indescribable. He got quite drunk before midday. Then we were obliged to fly from our lodgings and hide away under Tapee’s protection. For, sure enough, a warrant was really out for both O’Hara and myself for trespass and the abduction of Fae Fae, who from childhood had suffered from mental afffliction!

It was Tapee who gave us this last bit of information. As the old chief crept into the disused native hut and, squatting down by us, told us these things, much became clear to me. I recalled many things about Fae Fae’s manner, which, though fascinating and romantic, seemed out of the normal even in a native maid. We hid in that hut for three days, safe from the French officials; but I felt pretty gloomy as I thought of the prospect of our getting three years in the island calaboose. I gave out no hint of my qualms to O’Hara, but I well knew that there was a good chance of both of us being transported to the convict settlement at Ill Nou, Noumea! The following night, however, we secured an old canoe, through the help of Tapee, and paddled round to Matavai Bay, where we heard that a tramp steamer was anchored.

And the next day, as we heard the tramping far overhead and the dull pomp-e-te-pomp of engines, we both crept forth, moved our cramped, huddled limbs, and groaned. I chewed a morsel off one of our four coco-nuts. Then I caught a shadowy glimpse of O’Hara’s sweating black face as he took a drink from the water-bottle, and groped with his hands amongst the tiers of coal and terrific heat.

“Come on, this way!” I gasped, as I crawled along in that monstrous tomb where we found ourselves buried alive! “That’s better!” I said, as I felt a whiff of purer air come along some dark, labyrinthine way. O’Hara sat by me in the gloom, groping about as he carefully replaced the water-bottle and coco-nut in my portmanteau (an old green baize bag that I always carried when I travelled incognito).

Then O’Hara climbed up on my shoulders and peered through the little round hole just above our heads. For a long time he stared, gazing away to the far south-west horizon, where rose the rugged pinnacles of La Diadem, still visible.

“We’re safe enough now. They won’t catch us, I’ll bet,” said I.

“Ah, my darlint Fae Fae! I’ll never be happy again.”

“Yes, you will,” I murmured soothingly, as O’Hara still gazed through that dirty coal-bunker’s glass porthole, staring wistfully so as to get the last glimpse, as sunset touched the mountain palms of far-away Tahiti! We were stowaways down in the hold of a tramp steamer, far out at sea, outbound for Honolulu!