Page:The Gates of Morning - Henry De Vere Stacpoole.pdf/220



ANOA, dreading another voyage in the schooner and hating to be parted from Le Moan, hid himself amongst the trees of the canoe-builders.

He was nothing to Le Moan. Though he had saved her from Rantan, he was less to her than the ground she trod on, the sea that washed the reef, the gulls that flew in the air; for these she at least felt, gazed at, followed with her eyes.

When she looked at Kanoa, her gaze passed through him as though he were clear as a rock pool. Not only did she not care for him but she did not know that he cared for her.

Worse than that, she cared for the sun-like Taori. This knowledge had come to Kanoa only the other day.

Sitting beneath a tree, Reason had stood before him and said, “Le Moan does not see you, neither does she see Poni nor Aioma, nor any of the others— Le Moan only sees Taori, her face turns to him always.”

As he lay now by the half-shaped logs waiting for the daylight that would take away the schooner, Reason sat with him telling him the same story, the