“You are right,” said Sikra. “He is a pig. I heard you both when you were talking on the path, and I heard the name he gave my daughter, and I saw you strike him. But you will not kill him to-morrow.”
“But why?” asked Tauti.
“Because,” said Sikra, “he has left the island.”
Tauti laughed, disbelieving the other.
“Since when,” asked he, “has Uliami taken wings?”
“An hour ago,” replied Sikra. “I rowed him over to the schooner that lies there in the lagoon; most of the crew were ashore getting fruit, and the rest were asleep, and the captain and his mate were at the club drinking, and the hatch was open and Uliami crept on board and hid himself among the cargo. His lips were white with fear.”
“But Uliami is no coward,” said the other.
“Did he return your blow?” asked the cunning Sikra.
“That is true,” replied Tauti, “but hiding will not save him. I have sworn his death and my hatred is as deep as the sea. I will go on board the schooner now and tell the captain what sort of cockroach lies hidden in his ship; and when they bring him out I will kill him.”
“And then the white men will hang you,” said Sikra. “Child that you are, will you listen to me?”