ted torch made from the spathe of the cocoanut tree,
we made our way through the darkened forest to the house in which Susani
and her people were living. It was situated on the verge of the shore,
on the weather side of the narrow island, so as to be exposed to the
cooling breath of the trade wind, and consisted merely of a roof of
thatch with open sides, and the ground within covered with coarse mats,
upon which we saw were lying three figures.

Making as little noise as possible Suka called out a name, and a man
threw off his sleeping mat and came out; it was Susani's adopted father.

"No," he said in his simple manner, in answer to our inquiries, "Susani
is not yet dead, but she will die at dawn when the tide is low. 'Tis now
her last sleep."

Stepping very softly inside the house so as not to disturb her, we sat
down to wait her awakening. Suka crouched near us, smoking his pipe in
silence, and watching the sleeping girl to see if she moved.

Just as the weird cries of the tropic birds heralded the approach of
dawn, the woman who lay beside Susani rose and looked into her face.
Then she bade us come nearer.

"She is awake."

The child knew us at once, even in that imperfect light, for the moment
Senior and myself stood up she tried to raise herself into a sitting
posture; in an instant Suka sprang to her aid and pillowed her head upon
his knees; weak as she was, she put out her hand to us, and then let it
lie in the mate's broad palm, her deep, mysterious eyes resting upon
his face with a strange look of happiness shining in them. Presently her
lips moved, and we all bent over her to listen; it was but one word--

"_Fakaalofa!_"{*}

* "My love to you."

She never spoke again, but lay breathing softly, and as the sun shot
blood red from the sea and showed the deathly pallor of her face, poor
Suka gave way, and his stalwart bosom was shaken with the grief he tried
in vain to suppress. Once more she raised her thin, weak hand as if she
sought to touch his face; he took it tremblingly and placed it against
his cheek; in another moment she had ceased to breathe.

As I walked slowly along the beach to the boat I looked back; the White
Man and the Brown were kneeling together over the little mat-shrouded
figure.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Susani, by Louis Becke

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUSANI ***

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