you would have it now."

"But Huru-Huru was with me when I opened the shell--have I not told you
so times and times and times without end?"

"And now we shall have no house. Raoul told me today that if you had not
sold the pearl to Toriki--"

"I did not sell it. Toriki robbed me."

"--that if you had not sold the pearl, he would give you five thousand
French dollars, which is ten thousand Chili."

"He has been talking to his mother," Mapuhi explained. "She has an eye
for a pearl."

"And now the pearl is lost," Tefara complained.

"It paid my debt with Toriki. That is twelve hundred I have made,
anyway."

"Toriki is dead," she cried. "They have heard no word of his schooner.
She was lost along with the Aorai and the Hira. Will Toriki pay you the
three hundred credit he promised? No, because Toriki is dead. And had
you found no pearl, would you today owe Toriki the twelve hundred? No,
because Toriki is dead, and you cannot pay dead men."

"But Levy did not pay Toriki," Mapuhi said. "He gave him a piece of
paper that was good for the money in Papeete; and now Levy is dead and
cannot pay; and Toriki is dead and the paper lost with him, and the
pearl is lost with Levy. You are right, Tefara. I have lost the pearl,
and got nothing for it. Now let us sleep."

He held up his hand suddenly and listened. From without came a noise,
as of one who breathed heavily and with pain. A hand fumbled against the
mat that served for a door.

"Who is there?" Mapuhi cried.

"Nauri," came the answer. "Can you tell me where is my son, Mapuhi?"

Tefara screamed and gripped her husband's arm.

"A ghost!" she chattered. "A ghost!"

Mapuhi's face was a ghastly yellow. He clung weakly to his wife.

"Good woman," he said in faltering tones, striving to disguise his vice,
"I know your son well. He is living on the east side of the lagoon."

From without came the sound of a sigh. Mapuhi began to feel elated. He
had fooled the ghost.

"But where do you come from, old woman?" he asked.

"From the sea," was the dejected answer.

"I knew it! I knew it!" screamed Tefara, rocking to and fro.

"Since when has Tefara bedded in a strange house?" came Nauri's voice
through the matting.

Mapuhi looked fear and reproach at his wife. It was her voice that had
betrayed them.

"And since when has Mapuhi, my son, denied his old mother?" the voice
went on.

"No, no, I have not--Mapuhi has not denied you," he cried. "I am not
Mapuhi. He