"Not a whiff. Our land-breeze is absolutely of no kin, for it
begins this side of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa. You see, the land
radiates its heat quicker than the sea, and so, at night, the land
breathes over the sea. In the day the land becomes warmer than the
sea, and the sea breathes over the land . . . Listen! Here comes
the land-breath now, the mountain wind."

I could hear it coming, rustling softly through the coffee trees,
stirring the monkey-pods, and sighing through the sugar-cane. On
the lanai the hush still reigned. Then it came, the first feel of
the mountain wind, faintly balmy, fragrant and spicy, and cool,
deliciously cool, a silken coolness, a wine-like coolness--cool as
only the mountain wind of Kona can be cool.

"Do you wonder that I lost my heart to Kona eighteen years ago?" he
demanded. "I could never leave it now. I think I should die. It
would be terrible. There was another man who loved it, even as I.
I think he loved it more, for he was born here on the Kona coast.
He was a great man, my best friend, my more than brother. But he
left it, and he did not die."

"Love?" I queried. "A woman?"

Cudworth shook his head.

"Nor will he ever come back, though his heart will be here until he
dies."

He paused and gazed down upon the beachlights of Kailua. I smoked