As sunset flooded the seas, and the shadows fell over the small island world, he looked into Aiola’s eyes and said: “Come!”
For a moment the two Hawaiians stood side by side, and looked over their shoulders at Waylao, who sat on the promontory’s edge, ignorant that the terrible moment had arrived.
“Aiola, hesitate not, come into the cave,” said the chief. Then they both crept into the cave, and kneeling side by side prayed, saying: “Ora li Jesu” (the Lord’s Prayer). Then they peered into each other’s eyes as though for the last time; and the brave Hawaiian maid said: “Strike!”
The chief held the blade aloft and gave one longing look into the eyes of the girl that he loved. He could not strike. So they fell into each other’s arms and kissed again—and put it off till the next night.
So did they each night prepare to die; and each night his heart failed him. Then, alas! one day a sail appeared on the horizon.
Waylao was the first to see the white glimmer, sparkling like a beautiful bird’s wing far to the north-west.
She tried to distract the chief’s attention. But it was no good: his keen eyes discerned it.
Nearer and nearer came the sail. The Hawaiian chief undid the old Samoan’s woman’s shawl and placed it on a tree a little more to the south of the isle. Then they all watched. At first it seemed as though the schooner was dipping away across the sea straight on its course. Suddenly the sails, on fire with the light of the sunset, swerved, and the golden and crimson fire touched the other side of the spread canvas, that had been a dull grey, and they knew the schooner had sighted the signal of distress and was beating its way towards the solitary isle.
“Hide me, I don’t want to go away from you, don’t leave me!” screamed Waylao.
It was no good. The Hawaiian chief looked at her sternly but kindly.