gged his shoulders pityingly.
"A dozen _haoles_--I beg your pardon, white men--have lost their hearts
to her at one time or another. And I'm not counting in the ruck. The
dozen I refer to were _haoles_ of position and prominence."

"She could have married the son of the Chief Justice if she'd wanted to.
You think she's beautiful, eh? But you should hear her sing. Finest
native woman singer in Hawaii Nei. Her throat is pure silver and melted
sunshine. We adored her. She toured America first with the Royal
Hawaiian Band. After that she made two more trips on her own--concert
work."

"Oh!" I cried. "I remember now. I heard her two years ago at the Boston
Symphony. So that is she. I recognize her now."

I was oppressed by a heavy sadness. Life was a futile thing at best. A
short two years and this magnificent creature, at the summit of her
magnificent success, was one of the leper squad awaiting deportation to
Molokai. Henley's lines came into my mind:--

"The poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers;
Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame."

I recoiled from my own future. If this awful fate fell to Lucy Mokunui,
what might my lot not be?--or anybody's lot? I was thoroughly aware that
in life we are in the midst of death--but to be in the midst of living
death, to die and not be dead, to be one of that draft of creatures that
once were men, aye, and women, like Lucy Mokunui, the epitome of all
Polynesian charms, an artist as well, and well beloved of men--. I am
afraid I must have betrayed my perturbation, for Doctor Georges hastened
to assure me that they were very happy down in the settlement.

It was all too inconceivably monstrous. I could not bear to look at her.
A short distance away, behind a stretched rope guarded by a policeman,
were the lepers' relatives and friends. They were not allowed to come
near. There were no last embraces, no kisses of farewell. They called
back and forth to one another--last messages, last words of love, last
reiterated instructions. And those behind the rope looked with terrible
intensity. It was the last time they would behold the faces of their
loved ones, for they were the living dead, being carted away in the
funeral ship to the graveyard of Molokai.

Doctor Georges gave the command, and the unhappy wretches dragged
themselves to their feet and under their burdens of luggage began to
stagger across the lighter and aboard the steamer. It was t