Her song ceased, and then Suka, stepping forward, touched her gently upon the arm. She looked up and smiled into his face, and then she let her full, dark eyes rest upon the strangers who stood behind, then again she turned to Suka in mute, inquiring wonder.
He bent down and placed his cheek against hers, "Be not afraid, Susâni; they be good friends. And see, little one, sit thee further back within the cave, for the driving rain beats in here at the mouth and thy feet are wet and cold."
She rose without a word and stood whilst the kindly-hearted native unrolled an old mat which lay at the end of the cave and spread it out in the centre.
"Come, Susâni, dear one," he said gravely, and his usually harsh and guttural voice sounded soft and tender. "Come, sit thee here, and then in a little while shall I get wood and make a fire so that we may eat. Hast eaten to-day, little one?"
She shook her head; a faint smile parted her lips, and then her strange, mournful eyes for a moment again sought ours as she seated herself on the mat Suka beckoned us to approach and sit near her, himself sitting a little apart and to one side.
"Susâni," he said, bending forward and speaking slowly and carefully, "fealofani tau lima i taka soa" ("give your hand to my friends ").
The girl held out her left hand, and Senior and I each took it in turn gently within our own, and uttered the native greeting of "Fakaalofa."
"She can talk," said Suka, "but not much. Sometimes for many days no word will come from her lips. It is then she leaveth the village and walks about in the forest or along the beaches when others sleep. But no harm can come to her, for she is tausi mau te Atua.{*} And be not vexed in that she gave thee her left hand, for, see——"
* In God's special keeping.
He touched the girl's right arm, and we now saw that it hung limp and helpless upon her smooth, bared thigh.