ng her the true helper after all. He laughed at the old man that
was fool enough to buy that bottle.

"A worthy old man he seemed," Keawe said. "But no one can judge by
appearances. For why did the old reprobate require the bottle?"

"My husband," said Kokua humbly, "his purpose may have been good."

Keawe laughed like an angry man.

"Fiddle-de-dee!" cried Keawe. "An old rogue, I tell you, and an old ass
to boot. For the bottle was hard enough to sell at four centimes; and at
three it will be quite impossible. The margin is not broad enough, the
thing begins to smell of scorching--brrr!" said he, and shuddered. "It is
true I bought it myself at a cent, when I knew not there were smaller
coins. I was a fool for my pains; there will never be found another: and
whoever has that bottle now will carry it to the pit."

"O my husband!" said Kokua. "Is it not a terrible thing to save oneself
by the eternal ruin of another? It seems to me I could not laugh. I
would be humbled. I would be filled with melancholy. I would pray for
the poor holder."

Then Keawe, because he felt the truth of what she said, grew the more
angry. "Heighty-teighty!" cried he. "You may be filled with melancholy
if you please. It is not the mind of a good wife. If you thought at all
of me you would sit shamed."

Thereupon he went out, and Kokua was alone.

What chance had she to sell that bottle at two centimes? None, she
perceived. And if she had any there was her husband hurrying her away to
a country where there was nothing lower than a cent. And here--on the
morrow of her sacrifice--was her husband leaving her and blaming her.

She would not even try to profit by what time she had, but sat in the
house, and now had the bottle out and viewed it with unutterable fear,
and now, with loathing, hid it out of sight.

By and by Keawe came back, and would have her take a drive.

"My husband, I am ill," she said. "I am out of heart. Excuse me, I can
take no pleasure."

Then was Keawe more wroth than ever. With her, because he thought she
was brooding over the case of the old man; and with himself, because he
thought she was right, and was ashamed to be so happy.

"This is your truth," cried he, "and this your affection! Your husband
is just saved from eternal ruin, which he encountered for the love of
you--and you can take no pleasure! Kokua, you have a disloyal heart."

He went forth again furious, and wandered in the town all day. He met
frien