“Oh, Katafa,” said Le Moan, speaking in a voice clear but scarcely above a whisper, “Taori will not die—I go to save him; the nets are spread for him but I will break them, I the daughter of Le Jennibon, the daughter of Le Juan”
Even as she spoke the voice from the house quieted.
“I who have brought this evil.” Katafa heard her voice, not knowing what she said, for the change in the voice of the sick man was speaking to her.
Gliding into the house she lay down beside him, her cool hand upon his brow.
Le Moan turned to the beach through the trees. Night rested on Karolin and the moon showed the sands far stretching and filled with the silky whisper of the wind.
Far to the right lay the canoe all but completed, to the left the boat of the schooner. Le Moan came to the boat.
The tide was full, almost touching the keel, it was a light boat, the sands were firm, and evil though it was, it could not resist her. Afloat, with an oar, she drove it out, and raising the sail shipping the rudder, gave the sail to the wind.
The wind was favourable for the break, the ebb was beginning to run, all things were helping her now because she had conquered. Death could do no more against her for she was his.
To the right lay the moonlit sands of the southern beach from which she had sailed that morning with Peterson and with a dread in her heart that she did not feel now; before her lay the widening break with the first ebb racing through it to the sea, a night-flying gull cried above her as the breakers loudened on the outer beach and fell behind her as the wind and tide swept her out to the sea.
Far out, beyond return by drift or chance, she brailed the little sail, unstepped the mast and cast mast and sail to the water, cast the oars to the water, and lying down gave her soul into the hands of that Power through which her mother’s people had gained release when, weary of the world, they chose to turn their faces from the sun.