if_ was not there. Newmarch had evidently
discovered that Leith had not been quite successful in the carrying out
of his plans, and fearful of his own share in the business, he had
bolted with the yacht. The South Sea breeds piratical thoughts, and from
our own knowledge of the captain we guessed that in his particular case
those thoughts would be easily generated.

"He thinks he'll save his own skin by clearing out," said Holman, "but
I'm satisfied that Dame Justice is an expert with the lariat. If he's
not in jail before three months are out, my name is not Will Holman."

It was the missionary schooner _Messenger of Light_ that saw our beacon
upon the island on the fourth day after we had reached the spot where we
had landed from _The Waif_. The beautiful white vessel hove to outside
the entrance to the little bay, a boat came ashore, and twenty minutes
after they had first sighted our signal we were on the way to
Wellington, New Zealand.

"And the 'Frisco boats call there," murmured Barbara, "Joy! Joy! Joy!"

The moon was whitening the sleeping Pacific when Edith and I stood
looking over the taffrail as the _Messenger of Light_ swept on her
course. From nearby came the voice of Professor Herndon relating his
experiences to a missionary who was returning from the Marquesas. A soft
island melody was wafted from the fo'c'stle, and the night was alive
with all the witchery of the tropics.

"Edith," I whispered, as I took her hand, "I am a common sailorman, but
if you could love me I--I--"

I stopped in confusion, and as she had done on a former occasion, she
came to the rescue of my stammering tongue.

"You are a big, true man," she murmured. "If you had not come with us we
should not have returned from that awful place. God let you listen to
that song of the White Waterfall so that we might be saved."

Some minutes afterward she released herself from my arms. "Let us find
Will and Barbara," she said softly. "We will share each other's
happiness."

And as I followed her across the poop, a tremendous surge of joy rose up
and filled my heart. The whole world was clean and good, and in my
glorious exultation I whispered a prayer for the soul of John Leith,
alias Black Fernando.

THE END

End of Project Gutenberg's The White Waterfall, by James Francis Dwyer

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