“What three men?” I whispered, and in an instant there flashed through my mind the memory of the daring deeds of Jack Collier of Tahiti, of tousle-headed Barney Watt of the Ripple, and big Cameron of Honolulu. “Who are the three men of whom I dream?”
She pressed her hands to her bosom, and then turned her face, with her eyes still closed, to mine.
“I do not know, Simi. I cannot see beyond as I can do sometimes; for I am tired, and many other things are in my mind. But yet I can see one man of the three whom thou dost so often think.”
“Tell me, then,” and I knelt beside the girl and looked upwards to her face—“tell me of one man of the three. What is he like?”
“Simi, oh, Simi, be not too hard with me; for though I can see many faces, they are new and strange to me. And they quickly become faint and dim, and then vanish—but the sound of their voices seem to beat upon my closed ears—and I cannot understand, Simi, I cannot understand.”
I took her hand in mine and pressed it gently. I did not want to torment the poor girl, but I did want to know something more of the one man of the three of whom she had spoken.
“Can you tell me of the one man, Niâbon?” I said gently. “Is he young and strong, and of good looks?”
“He is not young, but is strong, and his eyes are deep-set and stern; and a great red beard flows down upon his broad chest; his feet are covered with boots that come to the knee, and he carries a stick in his hand, for he is lame.”
I started. I knew whom she meant—it was Cameron of Honolulu, and had the man been there himself, in his rough rig-out, and leaning on his heavy stick as he walked, she could not have described him more clearly!
“No more shall I doubt you,” I cried. “I will do all you wish.”