a new understanding as they sobbed in the Hawaiian woman's silver
throat:


"Ka halia ko aloha kai hiki mai,
Ke hone ae nei i ku'u manawa,
O oe no kan aloha
A loko e hana nei."


Steve had taught her air and words and meaning--so she had thought,
till this instant; and in this instant of the last finger clasp and
warm contact of palms she divined for the first time the real
meaning of the song. She scarcely saw him go, nor could she note
him on the crowded gangway, for she was deep in a memory maze,
living over the four weeks just past, rereading events in the light
of revelation.

When the Senatorial party had landed, Steve had been one of the
committee of entertainment. It was he who had given them their
first exhibition of surf riding, out at Waikiki Beach, paddling his
narrow board seaward until he became a disappearing speck, and then,
suddenly reappearing, rising like a sea-god from out of the welter
of spume and churning white--rising swiftly higher and higher,
shoulders and chest and loins and limbs, until he stood poised on
the smoking crest of a mighty, mile-long billow, his feet buried in
the flying foam, hurling beach-ward with the speed of an express
train and stepping calmly ashore at their astounded feet. That had
been her first glimpse of Steve. He had been the youngest man on
the committee, a youth, himself, of twenty. He had not entertained