“Sestra, the winds are my friends to-day,” said Hawahee, as he smiled and then glanced about him in an observant manner, as though he would hide his own thoughts from himself.
Then he pointed to the shore, far behind them, and said: “See, I have taken the signal-flag down.”
Sestrina turned her head, also, and noticed that the old tappa flag no longer flew from the top of the palm on the promontory’s edge.
“’Tis good of you, Hawahee, to take the flag down. I well know that you have taken it down to please me.”
“True enough, wahine,” the man replied.
Sestrina gazed into Hawahee’s face; the fire of passion was glowing in his eyes. She swiftly turned her head that he might not see the light in her own eyes. In endeavouring to hide her face from her companion she slipped and fell forward, giving a startled cry.
“Aue!” cried Hawahee. He had rushed forward—Sestrina had tumbled into a small hollow by the bamboos. In a moment he was beside her. She lay in a recumbent position, her dress slightly disarranged as she lifted her knee, which was stained with blood.
“Are you hurt, O Sestra?” he murmured. His voice sounded hoarse and strange to Sestrina as he knelt beside her and gently wiped the blood from the small wound where a thorn had torn the flesh. Then he proceeded to bind the knee with a piece of tappa-cloth which he had hastily torn from the loose sleeve of his jerkin. “Aue! poor wahine,” he sighed as he gently twisted the bandage round and round. Hawahee’s hand was shaking. A flood of passion nearly overwhelmed his senses. All the noble resolutions which he had made whilst on his knees before his gods were made in vain!
“Sestra!”
“Hawahee!”