“Are you, indeed, angered with me? Have I in any way displeased you? Speak, that I may know my fault!”
“Why, foolish girl, what could you have done to displease me?” replied Kauhi, evasively.
“Nothing, I hope,” returned Kaha; “yet your look is cold and almost frightens me.”
“It is my mood to-day, perhaps,” answered Kauhi, increasing his pace to give employment to his thoughts; “you will think better of my looks, no doubt, when we are of longer acquaintance.”
They kept on together, he leading and she following, until they reached a large rock in Aihualama, when he turned abruptly, and, seizing the girl by the arm, said:
“You are beautiful—so beautiful that your face almost drives me mad; but you have been false and must die!”
Kaha’s first thought was that he was making sport with her; but when she looked up into his face and saw that it was stern and smileless, she replied:
“If you are resolved upon my death, why did you not kill me at home, so that my bones might be buried by my people? If you think me false, tell me with whom, that I may disabuse your mind of the cruel error possessing it.”
“Your words are as fair as your face, but neither will deceive me longer!” exclaimed Kauhi; and with a blow on the temple with the cone of hala nuts, which he was still carrying, he laid her dead at his feet. Hastily digging a hole beside the rock, he buried the body and started down the valley toward Waikiki.
He had scarcely left before a large owl—a god in that guise, who was related to Kaha and had followed her—unearthed the body, rubbed his head against the bruised temple, and restored the girl to life. Overtaking Kauhi, Kaha sang behind him a lament at his unkindness. Turning in amazement, he observed the owl flying above her head, and recognized the power that had restored her to life.