“Aloah, Sestra, good night,” murmured Hawahee.
But still the comb moved and moved, as it relentlessly tugged the tresses till they fell like a tent about the girl’s face and shoulders.
“Aloah!” he reiterated. Then he turned away from the veranda and passed back into the shadows. And as the Hawaiian entered his lonely homestead, he heard the shell-gods moaning their murmuring melodies. Thereupon, he at once fell on his knees, and thanked all the gods and the great White God who had helped him in his weaknesses, and so made the day pass without sorrow.
That night Sestrina lay sleepless in bed thinking of many things that troubled her. The moon had risen, and as she looked through the small window-hole above her pillow, she could see the far-off ocean and the tumbling silvered waves that seemed to be beating silently over the shore reefs. One thin shaft of moonlight fell slantwise through the dark-fingered palm leaves by her door, sending a mystic radiance across her form as she lay there.
“I cannot sleep,” she murmured as she rose to a sitting attitude and gazed on the faded photographs on the wall. Then she gave a start—a shadow had fallen across the small room, obliterating the moon’s flame swiftly, as though a lamp had been blown out. She gave no cry of fear as she turned her head and saw Hawahee standing by her couch. “Why come to me by night?” she asked calmly as she gazed up at the sad face of the tall Hawaiian, who gazed in silence, speaking only by the light of his earnest eyes.
“I also, like the stars, cannot sleep, wahine, dear sister,” he said, as the woman turned her head, and once more a slip of moonlight touched the lovely dishevelment of her shining hair. Her eyes were bright. One arm lay across her bosom, the other inclined upward so that her head could rest on it as she gazed in a meditative way at the solemn-faced man.
“Sestra, a great fire burns in my blood, and the gods may forget me,” said Hawahee softly, a note of deep sadness in his voice. “Stare not in my face, Sestra.”
But Sestrina still gazed, and saw that the sight of her lying there had awakened a deep light in the Hawaiian’s eyes. The next moment she had drawn the soft, delicately woven tappa sheet higher, so that her bosom and throat curves were concealed. Hawahee, noticing this act of Sestrina’s, gazed with downcast eyes at the floor, as though in shame. Sestrina immediately put forth her arms, and said: “Hawahee, touch my lips again, you are strong, noble and brave.”
“Hast thou forgotten the dreadful kilia?” he murmured as he reminded her of the risk she ran through holding his hand.
“I care not for the kilia, or for anything else so long as you remain with me, and keep brave and strong,” she sighed, as she too turned her head away as though she dreaded that Hawahee would read her thoughts.