* * * * *
The Sybil made better time than was expected, after all. Her white sails lifted against the blue, from behind the nearest island, just as the royal wedding party commenced its gorgeous procession to the church. Before the ceremony was ended, the schooner had made the harbour and Saxon was ashore. He came upon an utterly deserted town, and saw not a human being until he was halfway up to the church, outside of which he perceived an immense crowd, unable to enter. Under a tree by the wayside sat one of the English traders who had failed to get a place. He greeted Saxon uproariously, and asked him if this wasn't a proper go.
"What?" asked Saxon. "Which is he marrying?"
"Oh, crikey! he doesn't know!" roared the trader—and fell back against the tree, suffocating with laughter, and utterly declining to explain.
Saxon, cursing him for a silly fool, tramped on towards the church. The procession was coming out now, and he wanted to see the show, for though he might call the coffee-coloured Lialians niggers, he quite understood the position of King Napoleon Timothy Te Paea III., and the importance to all the islands of his choice.
He got upon a bank to see the better, fixed his long-sighted sailor eyes upon the chapel door, and saw a glittering vision emerge into the sunlight, amidst the cries and cheers of the people. That was the King, in a gorgeous uniform, with his crown on his head and a long velvet mantle sweeping behind him ... and at his left hand stepped a tall, stately, slender figure, also crowned, and dazzlingly dressed all in glittering gold.... Not Mahina, certainly; not Litia either—Who was it, then? It could never be—but it was—Vaiti!
Saxon staggered off the bank, sat down, jumped up again, and clapped his hands.
"By ——, if it isn't like her, through and through!" he cried. "By ——, I'm proud of her! Queen of Liali! Queen of Liali! But——"
He stopped, and shook his head with a knowing laugh. He was not very sober.
"But—God help the King!" he said.