A loud cry of astonishment burst from the natives, many of whom, throwing down their arms, sprang into the water, and clambering into the boat greeted the young man most affectionately; and then one of them, commanding silence, began talking rapidly to him.
“We must get ashore quickly,” said Cheyne to Randall. “My brother-in-law has a number of dead and dying people in his house. There has been a mutiny on board that ship—but come on, he'll tell us all about it.”
In another minute the boat was on the beach, and as Frewen and Cheyne jumped ont they were met by a handsome, dark-faced man about forty years of age, who grasped Cheyne's hands warmly.
“I never expected to see you, Randall,” he said quietly, “but I thank God that you have come, and at such a time, too. Where is your ship?”
“Three hundred miles away. But we will tell you our story another time. How is Marie?”
“Well. She already hears the people shouting your name. Come to the house.” Then he turned to Frewen and held out his hand. “My name is Raymond, and you are welcome to Samatau.”
“And mine is Frewen. I hope you will accept any assistance I can give.”
“Gladly. But I will tell you the whole story presently. I have two men dying in my house, three others wounded, and two dead.”
He led the way along a shady, winding path to the house, on the wide verandah of which were seated a number of natives of both sexes, who made way for them to pass with low murmurs of “Talofa, aliia,” {*} to the two strangers. Then in another moment Marie Raymond stepped softly out from the sitting-room, and threw her arms round her brother's neck.
* “Greeting, gentlemen.”