And Waylao knew that she appealed in vain.
The Hawaiian turned his head away to hide his tears. Fate had given him a task which he hated to perform.
Aiola, who stood watching the approaching schooner, called out in a beseeching voice: “Waylao, let us die!”
As Waylao gazed at the girl, pleading so strangely for the hand of Death to strike, her heart stood still. For Aiola had hidden herself for several days. Why? Her eyes goggled and stared like bulged glass, and as the Hawaiian chief turned and looked at her she hung her head for shame. The shoulders that he had so often praised for their smooth, graceful beauty were spotted and disfigured.
Waylao followed the chief, obediently, like a child, as he led her to say the last good-bye.
The two girls embraced and sobbed in each other’s arms. Then they all knelt together and prayed.
Nearer and nearer came the schooner.
The chief was the first to rise.
“Waylao, go down to the shore and wait till I call you.” Saying this, he stooped and kissed Waylao on the brow, and murmured something in a strange tongue.
Waylao went down to the shore, walking like one in dream.