“I must decline to perform the ceremony,” said Muggridge doggedly. “In your case, without a license, should I perform this ceremony, I would be sanctioning your right to live with this woman in defiance of the law of the land.”
“But there is no law, Mr. Muggridge.”
“There is,” said the missionary tersely. “I am the Law, and in this matter I am inexorable.”
“You’re a lunatic. You’re as crazy as a March hare,” Dan retorted hotly.
“It is because he has looked upon me with desire,” said Tamea coolly. “Come, beloved. It is foolish to argue with one who is quite mad.”
She took his hand and led him back up the hill and out on to the edge of the high headland that gave a view of the entire eastern coast of the island. Inland, a high conical peak, which Dan now realized was a volcano, lifted some four thousand feet into the sky, now rapidly darkening as the sun sank. Still holding Dan’s hand, Tamea took her stand beside him.
“Dear one,” she said, “if you would take me to wife, then must it be after the fashion of my people, since it is plainly impossible that it can be after the fashion of yours. I think I understand how it is that you would take me to wife. You would be very serious, very sincere, very solemn. It is something you would not do lightly.”
He nodded and the girl, turning, pointed to the volcano. From the crater a rosy glow was beginning to appear, cast against the sky, and as twilight crept over Riva this glow deepened.
“My heart,” said Tamea softly, “is like unto the hot heart of Hakataua yonder. Throughout the day the sunlight beats down the glow so that no man may see it, but with the coming of night comes the glow that all men may see it, even those afar at sea in ships. With the coming of night I yearn for you, beloved; the flame of my desire burns high and I am unashamed that I desire you as all true women must desire a mate.” She turned and kissed him solemnly and tenderly. “I love you, heart of my heart,” she told him, “and though I live to be as old as Hakataua, I swear, by your God, never shall I love any man but you, Dan Pritchard. And, loving you, I shall respect you and obey you, nor shall I bring dishonor or shame upon you, my husband. Here, in the presence of the sea and the earth and the sky, I make my promise. While I can make you happy that promise shall hold, but when I can no longer please you then are you released. For that is the way of my people.”
“Here in the presence of God,” Dan Pritchard murmured, with bowed head and a full heart, “I take thee, Tamea, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, in honor, always.” And he kissed her now, solemnly, tenderly, without passion.