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his neck, kissed him with a sob, and lay back again to wait.
* * * * *
With Rua Manu and two others of his faithful native crew, Brantley walked quickly across the island to the lagoon to where the boat lay. Luita was not there, and the dark eyes of his sailors met his in a responsive glow of hope--she had not died in the boat!
They turned back into the silent aisles of coconut palms, and then Rua Manu loudly called her name.
"Listen," he said.
A voice--a weak, trembling voice--was singing the song of Talaloo.
"Terunavahori, bending low, Bindeth the sandals on Talaloo's feet; 'Hasten, O hasten, lover true, O'er the coral, cruel and sharp, Over the coral, and sand, and rock, Snare thee a turtle for our marriage feast; IA AKOE! brave lover mine.'"
"In the old MARAE, Paranili," said Rua Manu, pointing to the remains of a ruined temple. Motioning to the seamen to remain outside, Brantley entered the crumbling walls of the old heathen MARAE. At the far end was a little screen of coconut boughs. He stooped down and went in.
A few minutes passed, and then his hand was thrust out between the branches as a sign for them to follow.
* * * * *
One by one they came and sat beside Brantley, who held the wasted figure of the wanderer in his arms. The sound of his voice had brought back her wavering reason, and she knew them all now. She knew, too, that her brief young life was ebbing fast; for, as each of the brown men pressed their lips to her hand, tears coursed down their cheeks.
"See, men of Vahitahi, my Englishman hath come to me, a fool that fled from his house . . . because I thought that he lied to me. Teloma was it who first mocked, and said: ''Tis his wife from Beretania who hath come to seek him;' and then other girls laughed and mocked also, and said: 'AH-HE! Luita, this fair-faced girl who sayeth she is thy husband's sister, AH-HE!' . . . and their words and looks stung me . . . So at night I took my child and swam to the boat.