"i come from eden," cried the preacher; "even from the island of koiau, which floats as a green leaf upon the untroubled sea. there reigneth eternal summer, but there reigneth not the eternal god in the hearts of the heathen. koiau is one of the dark places of the earth. there 'every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.' yet the lord hath not forgotten his people. the light of the gospel glimmers amid the gloom, and ours, brethren, must be the task of pouring oil into the lamp, that the flame may illuminate those who walk in darkness. buli, the high chief of the island, inclines his ear to the words of salvation. he hath given a hostage to the lord. yea, verily; for doth not his only child abide in the tabernacles of zion?--dwelleth she not in the land of goshen? tera she was: bithiah she is, which, being interpreted, meaneth 'daughter of the lord.' she, a brand plucked from the burning, shall yet herald the dawn of pure religion in her heathen cradle. 'it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing.'"
the speaker, whose zeal thus confused his metaphors, was a herculean, weather-beaten man of some fifty years. he was clothed in rough blue serge. wind and spray had reddened his rugged face. his hair and short beard, iron-grey and grizzled, were in disorder, and the light of enthusiasm brightened his deep-set grey eyes, peering from under their shaggy brows. he had the appearance of a sea-captain; and his raucous voice rumbled through the building as though it were carrying orders through the storming of a gale. through long study of the bible, he had become possessed of a certain elevated phraseology; and, couching his everyday experiences in this, he managed to deliver a lurid and picturesque discourse which enthralled his hearers.
before him now, in the bare pitch-pine pews of their place of worship, some twenty or more of these were seated. they were demure folk, and their chapel was tiny--diminutive even. its walls were innocent of decoration--simply whitewashed, its windows plain glass. before a deal rostrum--up to which on either side led steps to a reading-desk--the preacher now gesticulated and thundered. the majority of the congregation were women; some old, some young; but all were clothed in the plainest of garments, their close quakerish caps hiding their hair.
in contrast to these, their faces pallid and expression impassive, there sat, almost immediately below the missionary, a dark and splendid girl of twenty-two or thereabouts, with a vivacious smiling face. she was the tera, alias bithiah, so eloquently referred to by the speaker. in deference to her savage love of colour, and her rank as a king's daughter, she was permitted to indulge somewhat in feminine fripperies. of this latitude she did not fail to take full advantage. no parrot of her native isles ever spread a finer plumage than did tera. a dark blue dress, a bright scarlet shawl, a wonderful straw hat trimmed with poppies and cornflowers--she glowed like a sun-smitten jewel in that sombre conventicle. she was in no wise embarrassed by the pointed reference of the missionary. her rank and good looks accustomed her to observation, and indeed, to admiration. moreover, as a native convert, she was thought much of by the congregation at grimleigh, and sat among them as a sign that the good work would prosper in the island of koiau. it was this impression that korah brand, former sailor and present missionary, wished to produce. hence his use of her as an object-lesson.
"'i am black but comely,'" quoted brand, in a strain of doubtful compliment to tera. "'a king's daughter all-glorious.' as i am, so are those of my race, who yet bow down to idols of stone--the 'work of men's hands.'" then the preacher passed into a description of the fierce heathen worship which christianity was to destroy.
tera's eyes flashed, and her nostrils dilated, as brand painted the idol ceremonies with natural eloquence. she, too, knew of the trilithon in the dark forest, where scowled the terrible god, lomangatini; she also had seen the limestone altar which had streamed so often with human blood. these things, fables to her neighbours, were realities to her; and the hot barbaric blood sang in her veins with quick response to the home picture. after a time the missionary began to describe the island; and tera's fancy ran before his words to where koiau lay amid leagues of shining seas, beneath the wider skies of the underworld. the lines of feathery palms; the long rollers crumbling on the ragged reef; the still lagoon where the parrot-fish darted amongst branching coral, of rainbow hues; picture after picture presented itself to her mind, and faded to leave her sick for home. in this grey island of sunless skies and chilling mists, she was as one in the pale realms of the dead.
to distract her thoughts, which were too much for her, she glanced round at the attentive congregation. there, with the elders, sat farmer carwell, his jolly red face filled with interest and awe. near her, his daughter rachel, pale and pretty, leaned forward to catch every word of the discourse; and beside the door, herbert mayne, the yeoman squire, also leaned forward, but less to hear the preacher than to catch a loving glance from rachel's bright eyes. present also was miss arnott, a lean demure woman who had been an actress in her youth, but who, stirred by a chance word, had left the booths of satan for the tabernacle of zion. she was gazing ardently at a pale man seated on a cane chair near the rostrum, and guided by the intensity of the look, tera let her eyes stray in the same direction. yet there was little in the appearance of mr. johnson to attract the eye.
johnson--the rev. george--was the minister of the grimleigh bethesda, which was also known locally as bethgamul, i.e the house of recompense. this tall slender expounder of the word had been a missionary in the south seas some years before, but had returned to take charge of the grimleigh remnant. he was well acquainted with the island of koiau, with buli the high chief also; and it was he who had brought home tera to be educated in england. a religious man, a sympathetic man, yet a guardian whom tera feared, and more than half detested. as she looked at his hairless face, the colour of old ivory, the minister, as if conscious of her gaze, raised his eyes. a look passed between them--on his part imploring, yet withal imperious; on hers, defiant, with a touch of dread. and in that look--intercepted and frowned upon by the vigilant miss arnott--lay a story of love and rejection. and the quondam actress shivered as her heart interpreted its meaning.
after an hour of description, denunciation, and imploring appeals on behalf of the poor heathen, brand prayed long and fervently for the conversion of tera's countrymen. then he gave out the words of a favourite hymn bearing on the subject of his discourse, which was sung with fervour by the moved congregation.
the music, following so closely on brand's discourse of her homeland, was too much for tera's emotions. with an hysterical sob she rose hastily and passed down the narrow aisle out into the night. johnson's burning gaze followed her graceful form, and a quiver passed over his face like a breath of wind on still waters.
outside, the night was warm and balmy. over the hills at the back of bethgamul rode the golden wheel of the harvest moon. below, where the land spread beach-ward at the foot of the rise, tera could see the winking lights of the little town--the red eye of the lamp at the end of the jetty, and extending in radiance towards a darkening horizon, the silent ocean, broken here and there by the fitful moonlight into a myriad sparkles. somewhere beyond those dark clouds lay koiau, encircled by shining waters. the over-sea breeze blowing shoreward seemed almost to bear with it the spicy perfumes of the isle, strange intoxicating odours which maddened her for home. on the beach below beat the surf, as at this moment it beat on the coral reefs beyond the lagoon. as a bird, her soul flew on the wings of fancy to the radiant isle of her birth--to the cocoa-palm groves and banana plantations. wild music, wilder dances, far-stretching spaces of silver sand, forests glowing with tropical blossom, the dusky women twining hibiscus flowers for coronals, and the great chiefs holding counsel in the "pure" (house) of the gods. tera dreamed dreams; she saw visions; and still behind her drawled and droned the nasal harmonies of those colourless worshippers who adored an unknown god.
suddenly a warm clasp was laid upon her wrist, and tera awoke from her ecstasy to find a fair saxon face close to her own. with a quiet little sigh of pleasure she nestled into the breast of the man.
"jack," she murmured softly, "o'ia fe gwa te ofal."
"put it in english, tera," said jack, slipping his arm round the girl; "i never could get my tongue round that kanaka lingo."
she hid her face on his shoulder with a blush. "it means, 'i love you,'" she said.
"why then, tera, kanaka talk is very good talk. let me hear more of it. but not here. the piety folk will soon be out, and their psalm-singing doesn't step well with our love-making."
"aué," sighed tera, christened bithiah; "they make me dull and sad, these songs. let us go." she moved along the brow of the hill, leaning on the sailor's arm.
jack finland was farmer carwell's nephew; a smart, alert second mate on board a coasting tramp. he should have shipped on a better boat, but tera lived at grimleigh, and grimleigh was a port of call. he had sailed among the islands of eden below capricorn: he knew the looks of a coral atoll, and the beauty of the women who wandered on the south sea beaches. after a prolonged stay in the islands, a fit of home-sickness had brought him back to the grimy port whence he had set sail many years before. here he had seen tera exiled from her southern paradise, and here, with the impetuosity of a sailor, he had declared his love. that she returned it was natural enough; for jack finland was as splendid a young man as ever set foot ashore to beguile the hearts of maidens. tera, with her inherent love for physical beauty, had surrendered at once to his wooing.
"but i fear we may not marry," she said, as they strolled along. "my guardian--this mr. johnson--wishes that i should be his wife."
"he wishes what he won't get, then, tera. you wouldn't throw yourself away on an ugly devil-dodger like him? no, my dear, you shall marry me; and we will go to the south seas for our honeymoon."
"with you, jack!--ah, how i should love that! at koiau my father is a great chief. he will admit you to our family; he will place his tabu on you; and when buli goes into the darkness we shall rule, my dear." the girl sighed, and tightened her clasp on jack's arm. "but this thing cannot be. my father has sent korah brand misi" [missionary] "to carry me back to koiau."
"but you won't go, tera?"
"i must. jack. if i do not, mr. johnson will make me his wife."
"i'll wring his neck first."
"ah!" tera's eyes gleamed with a savage light. "if we were in my land you could do that; but here"--she shrugged her shoulders--"they would lock you in prison. no, jack, here you must not kill."
"worse luck," grumbled finland, whose wanderings had made a barbarian of him; "still, you ain't going to marry johnson."
"oh no! i shall buy him if i can. listen, jack. when i left koiau, my father gave me pearls to sell here. but i have never sold them--oh no! i had no need to sell them. mr. johnson is poor--he wants money--i will give those pearls to him if he lets me go free."
"then this missionary chap will collar you, tera; and i don't take much stock in that lot."
"if i go with misi, you come also, jack. in koiau we may marry."
"in koiau your father may make you marry some big chief," said jack, wisely, "and i should be left out in the cold."
before tera could protest that she would be nobody's wife save his, johnson appeared, hurrying towards them with an angry look on his face. in the silver moonlight he could see the lovers plainly, and their attitude sent a thrill of rage through his heart.
"bithiah," he said harshly, "this is not an hour for you to be out. come! my mother is waiting for us."
"tera is free to come and go as she pleases," struck in finland, hotly.
johnson turned on him with restrained passion.
"you call her by a heathen name; you think of her as a heathen girl. oh, i know you, mr. finland, you beach-comber."
finland, full of rage at the contemptuous word, would have struck the minister, but tera flung herself between them.
"no, no, i must go!" she said, and flung a last word and look at jack. "toë fua" [farewell] said she, and walked away with johnson.
