Was he happy? He was happy, but not quite contented. The call of civilization had come to him. He had begun to hear the roar of streets in the roar of the reef, and to wish for a change. Just a few months’ change. The Haliotis was due—overdue by some days—and he had determined to take Kineia with him when the schooner sailed next and, leaving the place in charge of Taro, make the run to San Francisco.
They would only be a few months away, so he told himself.
Kineia had agreed. She showed no enthusiasm over the business. At heart she disliked it, but his wish was her law.
Suddenly Lygon rose to his feet and shaded his eyes. Away, far away against the sky line lay a fleck, spar-white in the sun dazzle, now almost invisible, now clear. It was the top canvas of a ship. It was the Haliotis . He knew that instinctively and at once. He watched, but the speck did not change. He turned away and, walking along the coral, did not look again for five minutes, then when he looked it had grown larger. She was coming with the wind that was breezing up fresh from the nor’east, and leaving the reef he paddled over to the island beach in search of Kineia.
She was seated in the veranda of their house engaged in needlework, and telling her that the schooner was in sight he went off to smarten himself.
He always put on his best clothes to receive the Haliotis. It was part of the ritual which included Californian champagne and palm salad at the dinner given to the captain.
It was after four when the Haliotis entered the lagoon, and spilling the wind from her sails dropped anchor a few cable lengths from the beach.
Then a boat put off.
Lygon, standing beside Kineia, shaded his eyes. He was looking at the man in the stern sheets of the boat.
“That’s not Captain Morris,” said he. “What on earth has happened to the cap?”