The next moment their lips met in a long impassioned kiss! Sestrina made an attempt to rise. The full-blown, richly-scented, crimson tropic flowers shed their leaves over her as her head fell back again into the deep fern grasses. Her eyes, half closed, gave a quivering gleam from the pupils, just visible between the dark-lashed eyelids, that were slightly apart, like a sick baby’s when it sleeps.
“Hawahee, my knee!” she moaned as their lips met again and yet again.
He still knelt beside her, and lifting her slightly, clasped her to his bosom. She opened her eyes; Hawahee saw a deep, earnest light in their depths. He murmured soft fond words in his musical language. Lifting her tresses, in the throes of some great passion, he buried his face in the folds of her hair, touching the shining skeins with his lips. His arms stole softly about her form. He felt the soft heave of her bosom as she placed one hand over her eyes.
“Sestra, how beautiful you look, the wild scents of the flowers and pulis cling to your tresses,” he whispered. A cockatoo in the palms gave a dismal croak and fluttered away. The winds stirred the bamboo thickets as her hair floated softly against his face.
“Sestra,” he murmured. His voice was hoarse and trembled. He touched her hand, caressing her fingers with his own. “Wahine, O laki, aloah!” he whispered. A sigh escaped Sestrina’s lips as he knelt there, beside her.
“Hawahee, let me go, my knee stings.”
“Sestra, ’tis my heart that stings; let me stay,” he replied.
Sestrina’s gaze met his own. Again she inclined her head, and placed her hand over her eyes.
“Hawahee, remember I am weak, I am a woman!” she sobbed. Her voice seemed to awaken the Hawaiian fanatic from some lovely impassioned dream. He suddenly stared over his shoulder, a startled look in his eyes. Beads of sweat stood on his brow. He too had something to remember—he was a leper! And as he remembered, he distinctly heard the warning, moaning chimes of the shells and the gods of the temple of the valley. They both knelt there, listening, fright and misery expressed on their brows. Hawahee was convinced, beyond all doubt, that the gods of shadowland had seen his danger, had warned him.
“O god of Langi, O Atua, O Pelé! I thank thee,” he cried as he thought how near to sorrow temptation had brought him and the woman he loved beyond all earthly passion.