The natural result of all this was that in the very hour of her triumph she fainted dead away in the church, for the first time in her life, and had to be carried out.
The ceremony was just over by now, and the bride, still burning with jealousy of the woman who had dared to eclipse her on her wedding day, was among the first of those who crowded round like bees going after honey, to stare at the beautiful creature lying senseless on the sunburnt grass. The bridegroom had sped away hot-foot in the direction of the village, whence certain enticing yells indicated that the pig-slaughter was now going on; but Mata was not a bit appeased by his indifference to the visitor. That dress—and oh, how wonderful it was!—still rankled in her soul.
Mata was a teacher's daughter, and she knew something of white people's lore. A brilliant thought darted into her mind as she pressed and struggled in the crowd about the deathly form on the grass....
"Ai, ai! she is surely dead!" wailed the people. "Ai! the-great chieftainess will rise no more!"
"Daughters of a turtle!" said Mata contemptuously. "I will show you if she is dead. It is nothing at all but that she is vain, and wanted to make herself a middle like the 'papalangi' women, who all look like stinging hornets. Give me a knife, someone."
A knife was given, and Mata, with horrid joy, half lifted Vaiti and slipped the keen point into the back of the dress.
Rip went the silk with a hideous splitting noise, and the delicate underwear swelled out through the opening like a bush lily bursting its sheath. Mata felt for the stay-lace, and cut that too. The tension on the bodice increased frightfully—the seams gaped and strained....
"She will die, I think, if I do not cut it off," said Mata hastily, feeling Vaiti reviving under her hand, and anxious to finish her work. Two more cuts of the knife did it. The Paris dress was, speaking sartorially, no more; the owner, lying on the ground, was opening her eyes to the outrage that had been done; and Mata, shrieking with malign laughter, was fleeing wildly through the palms in the direction of the pig-killing, peace in her heart again.
Peace was very far indeed from Vaiti's heart when she revived and found out what had been done. The crowd drew away from her in fear when they saw her flashing eyes and set, furious mouth, though she said never a word. Confronted by that Medusa-head, they were almost too terrified to find words; but one or two stammered out a hasty explanation that freed the present company from blame by inculpating Mata.
Vaiti did not doubt it—she had seen the bride's face during the ceremony. Still silent, but flashing looks of sheet-lightning all about her, she drew together her garments as best she could, and walked off in the direction of the ship. As she did so, a little ugly man with red hair slipped out from behind the trees, and looked narrowly at her retreating figure.