any further questions as to his reasons for
deserting from the _Saginaw_. But Em, gentle-hearted Em, knew.

One bright morning there came in sight a lofty-sparred ship, with
snow-white canvas, sailing at a distance of two miles from the shore
along the reef, from the south end of the island, and Ema Swain rousing
her brother from his mid-day slumber, with terror in her eyes, pointed
seaward.

Taking his father's glass from the bracket on the wall in the
sitting-room, the half-caste walked out of the house to a spot where
he could obtain a clear view of the ship. For a minute or so he gazed
steadily, then lowered the glass.

"A man-o'-war, Em, right enough; but I don' think she's an American.
I'll wait a bit until she gets closer."

"No, no, Jim! What you run such risk for? You go, Jim." And then, in her
trembling fear, their mother's tongue came to her aid, and the agitated
girl dragged him back into the house, imploring him in the native
language to yield to her wishes.

In another two hours they were sailing down the lagoon in the old
trader's whaleboat towards a place of safety, for Utiroa was, they knew,
the only spot where a man-of-war would anchor.

But long before they reached the village for which they were bound
they saw the great ship slowly change her course and bear away to the
westward, and leave the low, sandy island astern.

A long, steady look at her told the sailor eye of Jim Swain that he had
nothing to fear, even had she kept on and anchored at Utiroa.

"All right, Em," he said, with a low laugh, "we had no need to be
scared; she's a Britisher. That's the _Tagus_. I see her 'bout a year
ago at Samoa." And then he hauled the boat to the wind and beat back to
his father's place.

And so time went by, and the haunting fear of discovery that for the
first year or so after his return to the island had so often made the
young half-caste start up in his sleep with a wild alarm in his heart
when the cry of "Te Kaibuke!"{*} resounded from village to village,
slowly died away.

* "A ship!"

II.

Nearly an hour had passed since the girl had left her father's house,
and now, as the sun dipped into the ocean, the flowing tide swept
through the narrow channel in little waves of seething foam, and Ema,
with one last look at the path on the opposite side, descended to the
beach, and throwing off her loose bodice of blue print and her short
skirt, tied around her waist a native waist-girdle