“Kilia!” (leprosy) cried the Hawaiian maid as she rubbed Waylao’s bosom and the skin all peeled softly off on to her hand—Waylao had contracted the plague, she too was a leper.
Instead of the Marquesan girl being worried over the discovery, she looked into the eyes of her friends and smiled. For the thought came to her that they were now true comrades in grief.
On the following night a terrible typhoon blew. The thundering seas seemed to make some tremendous effort to wash the little isle into the ocean depths. The bending pines and palms moaned so loudly that it kept the castaways awake all night, as they sat by the cavern’s doorway together. It was this night that the chief came to Waylao and said:
“O maid, though you have got kilia, you may live for many years, so, should a sail come in sight, they must see the distress signal. You will then be able to go away and see your people before you die.”
Waylao hung her head with grief, and as Aiola tried to soothe her, once more the chief put up the signal, which he had taken down at Waylao’s request.
“Cannot I stay and die with you, Aiola?” Waylao replied.
“No; because you know not our plans. We have decided to die together. How can we die and know in our hearts that you will be left alone on this isle?”
Saying this, the Hawaiian girl took Waylao’s hand, kissed it, and said: “If you love us, do as we wish.”
Then the two castaway girls embraced each other, cried in each other’s arms and slept no more that night.
In the morning the sea had calmed; the typhoon had blown itself out as swiftly as it had blown itself in.