Gabrielle looked round on those fierce-eyed men and women in terror. She saw that look in the eyes of old Oom Pa which told her that he, at least, had her welfare deep in his heart. The lines of tambu maidens divided, and moved back half in fright as Gabrielle made a dash and passed by them.
“Stay, O papalagi maid,” said Oom Pa, as he too moved back into the recesses of the forest and, staying her flight, said: “O white maid, you come to tambu dance before, I knower you. I know, too, that you no belonger to our race.” Then he rubbed his wrinkled face, looked at her sternly and proceeded: “Remember that great trouble may come to one who comer to our full-moon rites unasked. Savvy?”
Gabrielle nodded. She could not speak as she stood there trembling from head to feet. Then the old priest looked quietly in her eyes and said: “Tell me, O white maid, who was she with skin dark as the night, eyes like unto stars and cloudy, flowing hair as she dance on pae pae stage with you, mimicking you like a spirit-shadow?”
“With me!” exclaimed the girl in a startled, hushed voice, as she looked round into the forest depth in a great fear.
“Wither you!” reiterated Oom Pa. Then he said: “You knower not that such a spirit-shadow dancer with you and laugher when you place your lips ’gainst those of our taboo warrior? La Umano?”
So spake old Oom Pa, as the light of the moon and superstition lit up his wrinkled face. Before he could say more Gabrielle had fled in fear from his presence.
She had no recollection of the way of her flight back to her father’s bungalow. Her feet went swiftly, like pattering rain, over the forest floor as she ran from her fear and shame. And only God knows the thoughts of her sad heart as she entered her father’s homestead in the dead of night and crept into her little civilised bed to sleep.
Was it imagination? Well, whoever you may be, go to Bougainville, look into the wonderful eyes of those half-caste women who happen to have the blood of the white, Papuan and Polynesian races mixed in their veins, fall in love with such a one, hold her in your arms by night and watch for the shadow!—listen for the rustle of the old life that revelled in the magic of the tambu and maidia temples, the altars of heathen passion and enchantment.
CHAPTER V—MUSIC OF ROMANCE
On the morning following Gabrielle’s terrible experience old Everard sat bathing his head in a calabash of sea-water. It considerably revived his numbed sense. Then he blew his nose fiercely and, stumping his wooden leg with tremendous irritability, sat down to breakfast. Suddenly, as he was munching, he looked up, wondering what on earth was the matter with his daughter. Her dress was torn, her face looked pale and haggard, her eyes full of drowsy fright and some haunting fear. She looked years older than when she had retired the night before. The expression on her face was one of infinite sorrow. The lips kept trembling. The old man, completely lacking in imagination, could see nothing of the pathos, the absolute wretchedness of the girl’s expression. He summed up the whole business according to his own feelings.