FROM GARDEN TO GARDEN LIKE SEEDS ON THE WIND

Here there was peace. The great dark swell coming up and passing in the moonlight, the following wind, the stars—nothing remained but these, these and the whisper of the reef far astern, and the far glow of the burning ship.

Katafa steered, the great bunch of bananas up against her legs, Nan on his stick beside her, the head of Nan hanging over the transom like the head of a person contemplating seasickness.

They had never thought of dishonouring him by taking him off his stick. He was something real to them, and, without thinking back and putting things together, they felt that he was an influence in their lives.

He was. Only for him Sru would not have landed to be killed, the army and navy of Karolin would never have sailed to break the charm of taminan. Only for him the idea of making a mast for the dinghy would never have occurred to Dick, for it was the cut sapling that gave him the idea. Only for the mast the idea of journeying to Karolin would never have arisen.

Nan had literally put the club of Ma into the hands of Dick; the blazing schooner, the dread white men, the revolt of the Melanesians, all these were part of the work of Nan, who seemed only a cocoanut, but was yet an idea. The fish, the bread-fruit, the water beaker, and all the odds and ends they had brought away were stowed some in the stern sheets and some amidships, whilst in the bow reposed the little ships, like the toys of these children who had never learned to play with toys, but with men and events and with Destiny itself.

The wind blew steady and strong from the north.

Palm Tree had never depended on the trades. Owing to the influence of the Low Archipelago, the Trade Law did not hold either here or at Karolin; neither could the strength of the northern-runnning current be depended on—south winds increased its rate of flow. North winds decreased it. To-night the dinghy had to face only a knot-and-a-half current.

Towards ten o’clock in the morning the far glow of the burning schooner suddenly vanished from the northern sky. The sound of the reef had been left long ago astern. Nothing remained but the sea, the wind and the stars.

Dick, who had not spoken for some time, had slipped down into the bottom of the boat and was leaning his arm on the thwart and his head on his arm. He was asleep. Katafa did not awaken him. She was almost glad to be alone in these first solemn hours of return to all that her heart desired. The frigate bird had found its home again among the infinite sea distances, and the wide-spaced columns of the swell, as they passed, saluted her.

Now to port the tremendous vagueness and secrecy of the night began to give before something that seemed less like light than life; the sky showed scarcely a change, yet the sea had altered and now, low in the east, dim, red and luminous, like the banked smoke of burning cities, a line of mist lay suddenly revealed above the line of sea.

A gull passed the boat, soaring on the wind, and the wind whipped the sea with renewed life and freshness, and the sea cast its spray at Katafa as she steered, her eyes wandering from the sail to the old and accustomed glory, the wild, triumphant splendour of the east aflame.

Two great zones of light, like the knees of the angel of the dawn, showed, and, far above, wings in tumultuous colour and wide-spread arms of light struggling as if to smash down the crystal doors—and then, tumult dying and colour fading, at a stroke the western sky showed not a single star and in the eastern sky stood day.

Dick awoke from sleep with the sun half lifted above the horizon. Creeping aft, he took his place beside Katafa, but though she gave the tiller to him and, slipping down, rested her head against her knee, she could not sleep.

The island they had left vanished utterly from sight; they were alone with the sea, and now for the first time came doubt.

She knew the sea and its absolute infidelity, its traps and surprises, should they not find Karolin; should some storm rise suddenly and blow them into the unknown east, or the west where the dead men warm themselves round the dying sun!

She glanced up at Dick—Dick, beautiful as the god of youth and as serene—Dick, who had only known the waters of the lagoon and the sea beyond the reef and who was gazing now at the sea itself, untroubled by its vastness and unafraid.

Whilst her eyes held him she knew no fear, but when her eyes left him doubt returned. She had been so long separated from the sea that the guiding sense and instinct that served the fishermen for compass had all but deserted her. She felt lost.

She had forgotten the guiding sign placed long ago above the great lagoon by God, whose garden is Nature and whose rivers are the currents of the sea. Dick, perhaps divining her trouble by that subtle sense which enabled them to communicate without words, leaned sideways towards her as he steered and, letting the boat a few points off her course, pointed to where, far ahead, the light of the great lagoon formed its wan, miraculous window in the sky.