"Or you could build a boat and go to them." Her faith in him was unlimited.
He shook his head. "I intend to keep you here, and not risk you with the treacherous sea again." Something in his tone made her drop her eyes. "Would it then be so distasteful?"
"No," she answered bravely, "I have been very happy here."
"I want you to give me the right to protect you. You must marry me."
"But there is no priest," she subterfuged.
"Kings make their own laws. You and I, by right of possession, are joint rulers of these islands. We shall effect a union of our interests. Come, we will ask the Heavenly Father, who watches over even the outcasts, to guard and protect us."
Kneeling, he invoked a blessing on the new life on which they were embarking. He prayed fervently that they should not die out, but live to perpetuate a new race in this paradise of the Pacific.
They arose with rapt faces, and in a spirit of exaltation wandered down to the beach. It was a glorious, starlit night, and the wind from the sea was tempered with a summer softness. They gazed upon the glittering sea, heard the wave's roar and the wind's low moan. They saw each other's dark eyes darting light into each other. In early days the heart is lava and the blood ablaze. They were alone, but no feeling of loneliness oppressed them. Around them lay the white expanse of the sand; beyond, they heard the drip in the damp caves. They clung to each other; for them there was no one else in the world.
The shrimp fisher flung in his net, and Loa, afraid to trust him in the water alone, went surfbathing. The catch was successful, and at last Hawai, with the consciousness of work well done, threw down his net and joined her in the sport. Loa took the flat board on which she had been rescued and rode on it on the crests of the waves, keeping well to the shallow water, for she dreaded the flitting black fins that portended the shark. It was a sunlit honeymoon, and, surrounded by gorgeous flowers and brilliant birds, they imbibed the brightness of the atmosphere. As Loa did not like the gloom of the cave, Hawai built her a summer house of bamboo, and thatched it with grass. Gradually their comforts increased. One night, after they had dined off a young roast pig, Loa remarked, "Hawai, don't you ever say that you and I are the only people on this island." She looked him straight in the eyes.
He put his arm around her tenderly, but this thing worried him more than he liked to show.