The schooner was now distinctly visible. Waylao saw the light of the sunset gleaming on the flying sails. Though a tremendous longing thrilled her heart, she crept out on the promontory. She thought of her mother and father and the kind priest. But though her heart cried within her, still she did not hesitate. Standing beneath the dead tree, she piled the stones up as swiftly as possible, took down the distress signal and waited till the schooner had passed before she replaced it.
Then she rushed back to the cave, and called softly:
“Aiola! O Le Zeno! Come, come! The ship has passed, and you are safe!”
The lepers came forth with a look of half-wild delight on their faces, though still trembling, for life is sweet, however sad.
In a moment the Hawaiian chief glanced at the distress signal, “Aiola!” he said, and the leper maid also looked. For a while the two stricken Hawaiians gazed into each other’s eyes, their hearts too full to speak—Waylao had in her hurry put the signal flag back upside down.
In a moment they had seen through the self-sacrifice of their little comrade. Without saying a word, they looked into each other’s eyes, the three of them, and then burst into tears—and far away, on the dim horizon, the schooner’s sails faded like the wings of a grey sea-bird.
CHAPTER XXVI
The Weaving Hands of Fate in Mrs Matafa’s Knitted Shawl—Waylao tries to kill Herself—Snatched from Death—The Terrible Scourge—The Hulk disappears—The Compact of Death—The Lovers put off the Act Day by Day—A Ship comes in Sight—The Last Farewell of the Leper Lovers—The Last Sunset
AS the days went by, Waylao noticed a great change in her comrades’ manners. Their songs ceased, and they mostly sat whispering or praying together. One day as she sat beneath the palms by the shore, dreaming of the past, the Hawaiian chief came up to her and said: “Waylao, we are sorely troubled. We know that but for us you might have been rescued, and been taken back to your people.” Saying this, the chief looked steadily at Waylao, who replied: