The Weaving Hands of Fate in Mrs Matafa’s Knitted Shawl—Waylao tries to kill Herself—Snatched from Death—The Terrible Scourge—The Hulk disappears—The Compact of Death—The Lovers put off the Act Day by Day—A Ship comes in Sight—The Last Farewell of the Leper Lovers—The Last Sunset

AS the days went by, Waylao noticed a great change in her comrades’ manners. Their songs ceased, and they mostly sat whispering or praying together. One day as she sat beneath the palms by the shore, dreaming of the past, the Hawaiian chief came up to her and said: “Waylao, we are sorely troubled. We know that but for us you might have been rescued, and been taken back to your people.” Saying this, the chief looked steadily at Waylao, who replied:

“But I do not wish to leave you. Should I be taken from this isle, and know that you were left here alone, to die, I should never be happy again.”

The Hawaiian maid, who had crept up whilst her lover was speaking, heard all that Waylao said, and was deeply touched. But they both quickly responded as though with one voice: “We must not allow you to sacrifice your life for our sake; we are sure to die, then it will be you who will be left here alone.” Without saying another word, the chief went out to the palm-tree that grew on the most distant point of the promontory, climbed the highest tree and fixed old Mrs Matafa’s knitted shawl on the topmost bough. There it waved, flying to the breeze of that silent sea, the token of Mrs Matafa’s kindness, flapping violently as its knitted folds called to the illimitable sky-lines for help.

Waylao was too wretched to resist the wishes of the lepers. She knew that the terrors of death were upon the beautiful Hawaiian maid Aiola, for only the night before she had heard the maid say, as she clung to the chief: “We must die! We must die, O Le Haiwa-oe! Promise that I am dead ere mine eyes are dull!” And the chief promised.

“Beloved,” he said, “your eyes are still beautiful.” But as he gazed his heart was stricken with anguish. For the terrible sight was there before his gaze: the maid’s eyes were bulged and shining like glass in consequence of the terrible scourge.

They made Waylao sleep alone. “You will surely catch the leprosy if you sleep near us,” they said. So as the wind blew through the coco-palms all night, and the waves tossed up the shore, Waylao tossed sleeplessly. She could hear the Hawaiian girl moaning through the night in her sleep: “O my beloved, kill me! Kill me! My eyes! My eyes!”

Next day, when Waylao thought she was unobserved, she crept out to the edge of the promontory. There was no wind. The sea was like a mighty sheet of glass. Only one or two waves, at long intervals, crept in from the swell, to break sparkling on the sun-lit sand.

In a few seconds she had tied a large bit of rock coral on to the string that she held secretly in her hand. This string she tied again to her waist, then, with a prayer on her lips, she dived noiselessly into the deep, clear water—and disappeared in the depths.

The Hawaiian chief by the merest chance saw Waylao’s head disappear beneath the calm surface. He rushed out to the promontory’s edge and tried to locate the spot where the girl had sunk. As the ripples widened, he peered below the glassy surface and distinctly saw Waylao’s figure as it lay on the sandy bottom. Her uplifted face and swaying limbs were as visible as though she were lying encased in a mirror. Even the lump of coral that she had tied to her waist was visible; he saw her dying efforts to dislodge the string from her body. In a moment he had dived, clutched the girl and brought her to the surface—coral and all. “Waylao, you would leave us alone to sorrow over your death. Have we not sorrowed enough?”

So did he speak as Waylao opened her eyes and gazed into those of her rescuer.

“Forgive me, I longed to die,” she cried, as Aiola, the Hawaiian girl, opened her bodice to chafe her breast.

“Kilia!” (leprosy) cried the Hawaiian maid as she rubbed Waylao’s bosom and the skin all peeled softly off on to her hand—Waylao had contracted the plague, she too was a leper.

Instead of the Marquesan girl being worried over the discovery, she looked into the eyes of her friends and smiled. For the thought came to her that they were now true comrades in grief.

On the following night a terrible typhoon blew. The thundering seas seemed to make some tremendous effort to wash the little isle into the ocean depths. The bending pines and palms moaned so loudly that it kept the castaways awake all night, as they sat by the cavern’s doorway together. It was this night that the chief came to Waylao and said:

“O maid, though you have got kilia, you may live for many years, so, should a sail come in sight, they must see the distress signal. You will then be able to go away and see your people before you die.”

Waylao hung her head with grief, and as Aiola tried to soothe her, once more the chief put up the signal, which he had taken down at Waylao’s request.

“Cannot I stay and die with you, Aiola?” Waylao replied.

“No; because you know not our plans. We have decided to die together. How can we die and know in our hearts that you will be left alone on this isle?”

Saying this, the Hawaiian girl took Waylao’s hand, kissed it, and said: “If you love us, do as we wish.”

Then the two castaway girls embraced each other, cried in each other’s arms and slept no more that night.

In the morning the sea had calmed; the typhoon had blown itself out as swiftly as it had blown itself in.

As the day broadened, and the golden streams of fire imparadised the eastern horizon, the three castaways stood on the beach and stared: the old hulk, that had been high and dry on the beach facing their cavern home, had disappeared. The wild night seas had dislodged it from the reef and washed it away. As they stared across the brightening waters they saw the hulk adrift, far off. All day long they watched it. At sunset it faded on the horizon to the south-west. As it died from their sight their hearts became heavy. Though it was only an insensate hulk, it somehow faded away like a dear old friend, something that was the last link between them all and the world that they had left for ever.

A few days later the chief came to Aiola and said:

“The distress signal still flies on the highest point. Our friend will be saved some day.” Saying this, he looked into the sad eyes of the Hawaiian girl. She returned the gaze steadily: she knew what he meant, but did not flinch.

The chief’s voice was hoarse and had the note of intense sorrow in it. The leper girl stood up on tiptoe, kissed his shoulder, and said:

“Beloved, I know how your heart feels, but remember that ’tis my wish that we go to the great Lani [Heaven] together.”

The chief answered not, but sat perfectly still and gazed upon the maid who still revealed the wild beauty of her race. She peered back into her lover’s eyes. Crimson flowers to please his eyes bedecked the tresses of her wind-blown hair. The tropic breezes stirred the rich-hued masses as they fell to her smooth breast in curling waves. The silken tappa blouse was torn, and revealed the curves of her smooth shoulders, that were as perfect and brown as a nightingale’s eggs.

“My beloved, kiss me,” whispered the maid as she looked up into his eyes.

The chief did not answer. Perhaps he was thinking of the past, for he had known Aiola since she was a little child. The eventide was fast falling—yes, the hour when the girl would cling to him and pass away into the shadows of the great Unknown.

As sunset flooded the seas, and the shadows fell over the small island world, he looked into Aiola’s eyes and said: “Come!”

For a moment the two Hawaiians stood side by side, and looked over their shoulders at Waylao, who sat on the promontory’s edge, ignorant that the terrible moment had arrived.

“Aiola, hesitate not, come into the cave,” said the chief. Then they both crept into the cave, and kneeling side by side prayed, saying: “Ora li Jesu” (the Lord’s Prayer). Then they peered into each other’s eyes as though for the last time; and the brave Hawaiian maid said: “Strike!”

The chief held the blade aloft and gave one longing look into the eyes of the girl that he loved. He could not strike. So they fell into each other’s arms and kissed again—and put it off till the next night.

So did they each night prepare to die; and each night his heart failed him. Then, alas! one day a sail appeared on the horizon.

Waylao was the first to see the white glimmer, sparkling like a beautiful bird’s wing far to the north-west.

She tried to distract the chief’s attention. But it was no good: his keen eyes discerned it.

Nearer and nearer came the sail. The Hawaiian chief undid the old Samoan’s woman’s shawl and placed it on a tree a little more to the south of the isle. Then they all watched. At first it seemed as though the schooner was dipping away across the sea straight on its course. Suddenly the sails, on fire with the light of the sunset, swerved, and the golden and crimson fire touched the other side of the spread canvas, that had been a dull grey, and they knew the schooner had sighted the signal of distress and was beating its way towards the solitary isle.

“Hide me, I don’t want to go away from you, don’t leave me!” screamed Waylao.

It was no good. The Hawaiian chief looked at her sternly but kindly.

And Waylao knew that she appealed in vain.

The Hawaiian turned his head away to hide his tears. Fate had given him a task which he hated to perform.

Aiola, who stood watching the approaching schooner, called out in a beseeching voice: “Waylao, let us die!”

As Waylao gazed at the girl, pleading so strangely for the hand of Death to strike, her heart stood still. For Aiola had hidden herself for several days. Why? Her eyes goggled and stared like bulged glass, and as the Hawaiian chief turned and looked at her she hung her head for shame. The shoulders that he had so often praised for their smooth, graceful beauty were spotted and disfigured.

Waylao followed the chief, obediently, like a child, as he led her to say the last good-bye.

The two girls embraced and sobbed in each other’s arms. Then they all knelt together and prayed.

Nearer and nearer came the schooner.

The chief was the first to rise.

“Waylao, go down to the shore and wait till I call you.” Saying this, he stooped and kissed Waylao on the brow, and murmured something in a strange tongue.

Waylao went down to the shore, walking like one in dream.

The Hawaiian chief took hold of his beloved one by the arm, and led her into the cavern.

Before they entered the silent place that was to be their tomb, they both looked over their shoulders into the light of their last sunset. Then they swiftly embraced; their lips met; they murmured “Aloha!” into each other’s very souls.

The knife flashed silently, then the same blade flashed again and went straight to the Hawaiian chief’s heart also.

Waylao, who stood on the shore watching the dipping bows of the schooner that came towards the isle, suddenly recovered her senses.

“Aiola! Aiola! Come to me!” she screamed. In the terror of the silence that answered her despairing cry she rushed up the shore into the cavern. Once inside, she stood bathed in the light of the setting sun streaming through that hollow doorway. The sight that met her eyes transfixed her with horror.

Even the sailors on the schooner’s deck heard that terrified shriek. Then she ran down to the shore and fell prostrate on to the sands.

Thus was Waylao saved from the sea and brought back to her native isle to die.

Such was the terrible story Waylao told Father O’Leary in my presence. I cannot describe the sorrow that shone in her eyes, as through the hours we listened. I recall how the priest held her in his arms as though she were his own erring daughter, and laid her trembling form on the mission couch. Though we could hear the wild songs and oaths of the very crew who had brought her on their ship from that leper isle, no one in the world knew the truth of the secret that Father O’Leary and I guarded in the mission-room.

For three days she lay there, in that little room that she had so often dusted for the kind priest.

It was on the third day that she left us for ever, the victim of a tragedy that had left her a dying wreck at seventeen years of age.

I was obliged to clear out of that mission-room when the priest murmured prayers by the coffin. I felt too weak and sick at heart to watch that Calvary of stricken hopes and aspirations—betrayed by the Judas of hypocritical manhood.

I hated to see the world so beautiful outside, as she slept on. The mano-bird was singing in the banyans, the sunset fired the seas, and from far came the sounds of drums that were beating the stars in up in the mountain villages.

It was now that the Father went on his knees by that silent form for the last time. It all seemed unreal to me, as he took the image of the Virgin, softly pulled back the folds of the shroud and laid it on the dead girl’s bosom. In that moment we both noticed the livid leprosy patch on the breast of the sleeping girl.

The Father quickly fastened the shroud folds together again. I believe trouble would have come to him had he been known to conceal a leper. Then he called softly—in they came, three hired men. They were rough-looking, almost villainous types, but even they looked deeply on that silent form ere they stooped and nailed the lid down—and hid her face for ever from the sight of men.

That same night I sat in the forest quite alone, like one in a dream. I think I must have slept beneath the silence of those giant bread-fruit trees that moaned sorrowfully over me as the wind swept in from the dark seas. Though I felt some strange fright at my heart, I felt glad as Pauline crept out of the cloistered shadows.

“I’m pleased you’ve come at last,” I said as I commenced to play a wondrous melody on my violin.

Her eyes seemed unearthly bright as she suddenly sprang into my arms. It was so unexpected. She was as cold as death and trembling.

“I shall come again,” she said.

“Must you go?” I responded, nothing seeming strange near Tai-o-hae.

My voice sounded a long way off. As I spoke, the pale brow, the beautiful mass of hair became shadowy, dim and visionary. Only the transcendent gleam of the blue eyes stared through the dark of my dream.

I put forth my arms and endeavoured to grasp her, but she had vanished. It was then that I knew ’twas but another mad dream of mine.