the past night, and of those pending
that day, were not a little disturbed.

When I returned it was breakfast time. I went into the dining hut, and
there Stella was waiting to greet me, dressed in simple white and with
orange flowers on her breast. She came forward to me shyly enough; then,
seeing the condition of my face, started back.

"Why, Allan! what have you been doing to yourself?" she asked.

As I was about to answer, her father came in leaning on his stick, and,
catching sight of me, instantly asked the same question.

Then I told them everything, both of Hendrika's threats and of her
fierce attempt to carry them into execution. But I did not tell my
horrid dream.

Stella's face grew white as the flowers on her breast, but that of her
father became very stern.

"You should have spoken of this before, Allan," he said. "I now see that
I did wrong to attempt to civilize this wicked and revengeful creature,
who, if she is human, has all the evil passions of the brutes that
reared her. Well, I will make an end of it this very day."

"Oh, father," said Stella, "don't have her killed. It is all dreadful
enough, but that would be more dreadful still. I have been very fond of
her, and, bad as she is, she has loved me. Do not have her killed on my
marriage day."

"No," her father answered, "she shall not be killed, for though she
deserves to die, I will not have her blood upon our hands. She is a
brute, and has followed the nature of brutes. She shall go back whence
she came."

No more was said on the matter at the time, but when breakfast--which
was rather a farce--was done, Mr. Carson sent for his headman and gave
him certain orders.

We were to be married after the service which Mr. Carson held every
Sunday morning in the large marble hut set apart for that purpose. The
service began at ten o'clock, but long before that hour all the natives
on the place came up in troops, singing as they came, to be present at
the wedding of the "Star." It was a pretty sight to see them, the men
dressed in all their finery, and carrying shields and sticks in their
hands, and the women and children bearing green branches of trees,
ferns, and flowers. At length, about half-past nine, Stella rose,
pressed my hand, and left me to my reflections. A few minutes to ten she
reappeared again with her father, dressed in a white veil, a wreath of
orange flowers on her dark curling hair, a bouquet of orange flowers
in her hand. To me