he funeral
procession. At once the wailing started from those behind the rope. It
was blood-curdling; it was heart-rending. I never heard such woe, and I
hope never to again. Kersdale and McVeigh were still at the other end of
the wharf, talking earnestly--politics, of course, for both were head-
over-heels in that particular game. When Lucy Mokunui passed me, I stole
a look at her. She _was_ beautiful. She was beautiful by our standards,
as well--one of those rare blossoms that occur but once in generations.
And she, of all women, was doomed to Molokai. She straight on board, and
aft on the open deck where the lepers huddled by the rail, wailing now,
to their dear ones on shore.

The lines were cast off, and the _Noeau_ began to move away from the
wharf. The wailing increased. Such grief and despair! I was just
resolving that never again would I be a witness to the sailing of the
_Noeau_, when McVeigh and Kersdale returned. The latter's eyes were
sparkling, and his lips could not quite hide the smile of delight that
was his. Evidently the politics they had talked had been satisfactory.
The rope had been flung aside, and the lamenting relatives now crowded
the stringer piece on either side of us.

"That's her mother," Doctor Georges whispered, indicating an old woman
next to me, who was rocking back and forth and gazing at the steamer rail
out of tear-blinded eyes. I noticed that Lucy Mokunui was also wailing.
She stopped abruptly and gazed at Kersdale. Then she stretched forth her
arms in that adorable, sensuous way that Olga Nethersole has of embracing
an audience. And with arms outspread, she cried:

"Good-bye, Jack! Good-bye!"

He heard the cry, and looked. Never was a man overtaken by more crushing
fear. He reeled on the stringer piece, his face went white to the roots
of his hair, and he seemed to shrink and wither away inside his clothes.
He threw up his hands and groaned, "My God! My God!" Then he controlled
himself by a great effort.

"Good-bye, Lucy! Good-bye!" he called.

And he stood there on the wharf, waving his hands to her till the _Noeau_
was clear away and the faces lining her after-rail were vague and
indistinct.

"I thought you knew," said McVeigh, who had been regarding him curiously.
"You, of all men, should have known. I thought that was why you were
here."

"I know now," Kersdale answered with immense gravity. "Where's the
carriage?"

He walked rapidly--half-ra