“You are free to go anywhere within the walls of Haupu,” returned Kaupeepee, moving his arms around as if they embraced the whole world.
“Return me to my children,” said Hina; and at thought of them her eyes flashed with earnestness.
“Impossible!” was the firm reply.
“Then kill me!” exclaimed Hina.
“Did you ever see me before I had the pleasure of embracing you in the water on the coast of Hilo?” inquired the chief, evasively.
“No,” replied Hina, curtly.
“Well, I saw you before that time,” continued Kaupeepee—“saw you in your house; saw you among the palms; saw you by the waters. I made a journey overland from Puna to see you—to see the wife of my enemy, the most beautiful woman in Hawaii.”
Hina was but a woman, and of a race and time when the promptings of the heart were not fettered by rigid rules of propriety. Kaupeepee was the handsome and distinguished son of a king, and his words of praise were not unpleasant to her. She therefore bent her eyes to the floor and remained silent while he added:
“Hina would think little of the man who would risk his life to possess himself of such a woman, and then kill or cast her off as not worth the keeping. You are like no other woman; I am like no other man. Such companionship has the approval of the gods, and you will leave Haupu only when its walls shall have been battered down and Kaupeepee lies dead among the ruins!”
To this terrible declaration Hina could offer no reply. The fierceness of this prince of the old line of Nanaula, this enemy of her people, this scourge of the southern chiefs, alike charmed and frightened her, and with her hands to her face she sank upon the lounge of kapa beside which she had been standing.