"And I mean it.She is finished." He shrugged his shoulders pityingly."A dozen haoles--I beg your pardon, white men--have lost their hearts to her at one time or another.And I'm not counting in the ruck. The dozen I refer to were haoles of position andprominence.""She could have married the son of the Chief Justice if she'd wanted to.You think she's beautiful, eh? But you should hear her sing.Finest native woman singer in Hawaii Nei.Her throat is pure silver and melted sunshine.We adored her.She toured America first with the Royal Hawaiian Band.After that she made two more trips on her own--concert work.""Oh!" I cried."I remember now.I heard her two years ago at the Boston Symphony.So that is she. I recognize her now."I was oppressed by a heavy sadness.Life was a futile thing atbest.A short two years and this magnificent creature, at the summit of her magnificent success, was one of the leper squad awaiting deportation to Molokai. Henley's lines came into my mind:-"The poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers; Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame."I recoiled from my own future.If this awful fate fell to Lucy Mokunui, what might my lot not be?--or anybody's lot? I was thoroughly aware that in life we are in the midst of death--but to be in the midst of living death, to die and not be dead, to be one of that draft of creatures that once were men, aye, and women, like Lucy Mokunui, the epitome of all Polynesian charms, an artist as well, and well beloved of men -.I am afraid I must have betrayed my perturbation, for Doctor Georges hastened to assure me that they were very happy down in the settlement.
It was all too inconceivably monstrous.I could not bear to look at her.A short distance away, behind a stretched rope guarded by a policeman, were the lepers' relatives and friends.They were not allowed to come near.There were no last embraces, no kisses of farewell.They called back and forth to one another--last messages, last words of love, last reiterated instructions.And those behind the rope looked with terrible intensity.It was the last time they would behold the faces of their loved ones, for they were the living dead, being carted away in the funeral ship to the graveyard ofMolokai.
Doctor Georges gave the command, and the unhappy wretches draggedthemselves to their feet and under their burdens of luggagebegan to stagger across the lighter and aboard the steamer.It was the funeral procession.At once the wailing started from those behind the rope.It was blood-curdling; it was heart-rending.I never heard such woe, and I hope never to again.Kersdale and McVeigh were still at the other end of the wharf, talking earnestly-- politics, of course, for both were head-over-heels in that particular game.When Lucy Mokunui passed me, I stole a look at her.She WAS beautiful.She was beautiful by our standards, as well--one of those rare blossoms that occur but once in generations.And she, of all women, was doomed to Molokai.She straight on board, and aft on the open deck where the lepers huddled by therail, wailing now, to their dear ones on shore.
The lines were cast off, and the Noeau began to move away from the wharf.The wailing increased.Such grief and despair! I was just resolving that never again would I be a witness to the sailing of the Noeau, when McVeigh and Kersdale returned.The latter's eyes were sparkling, and his lips could not quite hide the smile of delight that was his.Evidently the politics they had talked had been satisfactory.The rope had been flung aside, and the lamenting relatives now crowded the stringer piece on either side of us.
"That's her mother," Doctor Georges whispered, indicating an old woman next to me, who was rocking back and forth and gazing at the steamer rail out of tear-blinded eyes.I noticed that Lucy Mokunui was also wailing.She stopped abruptly and gazed at Kersdale.Then she stretched forth her arms in that adorable, sensuous way that Olga Nethersole has of embracing an audience.And with arms outspread, she cried:
"Good-bye, Jack!Good-bye!"
He heard the cry, and looked.Never was a man overtaken by more crushing fear.He reeled on the stringer piece, his face went white to the roots of his hair, and he seemed to shrink and wither away inside his clothes.He threw up his hands and groaned, "My God! My God!" Then he controlled himself by a great effort.
"Good-bye, Lucy!Good-bye!" he called.
And he stood there on the wharf, waving his hands to her till theNoeau was clear away and the faces lining her after-rail were vagueand indistinct.
"I thought you knew," said McVeigh, who had been regarding him curiously."You, of all men, should have known.I thought that was why you were here.""I know now," Kersdale answered with immense gravity."Where's thecarriage?"He walked rapidly--half-ran--to it.I had to half-run myself to keep up with him.
"Drive to Doctor Hervey's," he told the driver."Drive as fast as you can."He sank down in a seat, panting and gasping.The pallor of his face had increased.His lips were compressed and the sweat was standing out on his forehead and upper lip. He seemed in some horribleagony.
"For God's sake, Martin, make those horses go!" he broke out suddenly."Lay the whip into them!--do you hear?--lay the whip into them!""They'll break, sir," the driver remonstrated.
"Let them break," Kersdale answered."I'll pay your fine and square you with the police. Put it to them. That's right. Faster! Faster!""And I never knew, I never knew," he muttered, sinking back in the seat and with trembling hands wiping the sweat away.
The carriage was bouncing, swaying and lurching around corners at such a wild pace as to make conversation impossible.Besides, there was nothing to say.But I could hear him muttering over and over, "And I never knew. I never knew."
