Page:The Gates of Morning - Henry De Vere Stacpoole.pdf/197

 was safe. Broken by the reef the great wave had not harmed her. But now and again came the cry caught from tree top to tree top.

“Amiana—amiana! The wave—the wave!”

The duplicate, the glittering brother of the first long line of light, was moving as swiftly towards them across the sea. Again the Karaka spouted and the gulls clanged out, again the great green hill of water sucked the shore sea to it, curved, crested and broke to the roar of miles and miles of reef.

The bones of the houses broken by the first great comber could be heard washing amidst the tree roots below and from the canoe-builders' grove came the crash of a great tree, a matamata, less secure a refuge than the slender-stemmed coconuts. It had fallen lagoon-ward and the people on it, unkilled, were climbing along it back to shore when yet again came the cry:

“Amiana—amiana! The wave—the wave!”

It was the third great wave, bright like a far glittering bar of crystal, scintillating with speed, sweeping through distance as the others had swept towards the reef and lagoon of Karolin.

But now, after the first outcry, the people in the treetops no longer awaited the coming of the danger in silence.

Their spirit suddenly broke. The sight of this third dazzling apparition was too much. What had they done to the sea that she should do this thing to them? Their houses were gone, the trees were be-