The giant banyans sighed. The heathen worshipper of stone folded the image of his dreams to his breast. His astounded, overwhelmed senses swam before the bright gaze of eyes that pierced his soul with darts of fire. The same wind that made the deep voices of the gods loudly moan, blew shadowy hair and gossamer drapery about his form and face. Their lips met in the sting of passion and some fear! Like fright the winds moaned as the beautifully moulded arms clutched the worshipper, and the faded flower that had once adorned Sestrina’s hair, dropped from the hand to the forest floor.
Even the winds stayed their breath as though in grief over mortal frailty and sorrow.
“Sestra! where are you?” said Hawahee, as he groped about as though lost in the dark of his own mind. He realised! He broke away. He fled down the valley, and like one demented vanished in the gloom of the banyans.
And Sestrina, who through her subterfuge had heard the truth about Hawahee’s sorrow and grief over his leprosy, fell prostrate to the ground again, and beating her hands amongst the flowers, moaned and wept. The next minute she rose, and running into the shadows, knelt before the stone shape, the rival she had outwitted, and cried like a child before its cold, passionless purity.
CHAPTER VII
NOTWITHSTANDING the sorrow of the night, of mortal frailty and grief, the door of the East slowly opened, and dawn in silvery sandals stood on the threshold of those remote sailless seas. The birds sang sweetly as the last troop of sentinel stars set out for home. Hawahee had long since stolen into the solitude of his hut and Sestrina in tears to her chamber. Nothing was changed. The sun rose just the same, and was welcomed by that great philosopher, Rohana, with cynical cries of “O Atua! O Pelé! ee! Wahinnnne! O Haw-wah-he cah cah whoo he!” The warm-coloured flowers, red and white hibiscus on the hill-sides sent voiceful, rich odours to each other’s rouged tiny faces and sparkling eyes. The whole isle, set in those illimitable seas, sighed over the tropical mystery of brooding loveliness and over the sorrowing heads of the torn hearts of the two lone castaways.
The isle itself resembled the vast brooding soul of the universe, of mortal aspirations, hope, prayer, anguish and faith. The giant trees, haunted by multitudes of bright and sombre-plumaged birds, stirred and moaned to the sea winds like a mighty, dark-branched brain of brooding beauty and deep murmuring musical thought.
Sestrina saw signs of Hawahee’s secret anguish on his face when he appeared before her in the broad daylight. The melancholy gaze of his eyes filled her heart with intense sorrow.
“Aloah, wahine,” he murmured, as she swiftly turned her face away and threw the peeled kalos (sweet potatoes) into the cooking pot. “Hide not thy face, wahine, but tell me of the night just passed.”