had done was sprung of a virtuous
motive, the rescuing a captive from thrall; or whether beneath that
pretense, I had engaged in this fatal affray for some other, and
selfish purpose; the companionship of a beautiful maid. But
throttling the thought, I swore to be gay. Am I not rescuing the
maiden? Let them go down who withstand me.

At the dismal spectacle before him, Jarl, hitherto menacing our
prisoners with his weapon, in order to intimidate their countrymen,
honest Jarl dropped his harpoon. But shaking his knife in the air,
Samoa yet defied the strangers; nor could we prevent him. His
heathenish blood was up.

Standing foremost in the boat, I now assured the strangers, that all
we sought at their hands was the maiden in the tent. That captive
surrendered, our own, unharmed, should be restored. If not, they must
die. With a cry, they started to their feet, and brandished their
clubs; but, seeing Jarl's harpoon quivering over the hearts of our
prisoners, they quickly retreated; at last signifying their
acquiescence in my demand. Upon this, I sprang to the dais, and
across it indicating a line near the bow, signed the Islanders to
retire beyond it. Then, calling upon them one by one to deliver their
weapons, they were passed into the boat.

The Chamois was now brought round to the canoe's stern; and leaving
Jarl to defend it as before, the Upoluan rejoined me on the dais. By
these precautions--the hostages still remaining bound hand and foot
in the boat--we deemed ourselves entirely secure.

Attended by Samoa, I stood before the tent, now still as the grave.

CHAPTER XLIII
The Tent Entered

By means of thin spaces between the braids of matting, the place was
open to the air, but not to view. There was also a round opening on
one side, only large enough, however, to admit the arm; but this
aperture was partially closed from within. In front, a deep-dyed rug
of osiers, covering the entrance way, was intricately laced to the
standing part of the tent. As I divided this lacing with my cutlass,
there arose an outburst of voices from the Islanders. And they
covered their faces, as the interior was revealed to my gaze.

Before me crouched a beautiful girl. Her hands were drooping. And,
like a saint from a shrine, she looked sadly out from her long, fair
hair. A low wail issued from her lips, and she trembled like a sound.
There were tears on her cheek, and a rose-colored pearl on her bosom.

Did I dream?--A s