Page:The Gates of Morning - Henry De Vere Stacpoole.pdf/226

 “Kanoa,” said she, “where have you been in hiding? They have gone without you; they called for you and you did not come, and they could not wait. You were wanted to help them in the raising of the sails and the work with the ropes—where have you been in hiding?”

“I have been fishing,” said Kanoa.

“And where are the fish?” asked Katafa.

“Oh, Katafa,” replied Kanoa, “I hid because I could not leave Le Moan, who is to me as the sun that lights me, who is my heart and the pain in my heart, my eyes and the darkness that blinds them when they see her not. I go to find her now to say to her what I have never said and to die if she turns her face from me.”

“And how will you go to find her now?” asked Katafa. “Have you then the wings of the gull and know you not that she has gone with the others?”

“She has gone with the others!”

“She has gone with the others.”

Kanoa said nothing. He seemed to wither, his face turned grey, and his eyes sought the distant sea. He, too, had watched the schooner disappear, rejoicing in the fact that she was gone with Taori leaving him (Kanoa) to find his love. And now Le Moan was gone—and with Taori. But he said nothing.

He turned away and lay down with his face hidden in his arms and as Katafa stood watching him, her anger turned to pity.