apparition at
Lourdes. _Pour moi_, I am convinced that Joan is one of the most
glorious saints in heaven, and that Pere Simeon himself is of the
band of blessed martyrs."

"Ah, Pere Victorien, I would like nothing better than to meet that
good man," I said, "but I am at a loss to get to Tai-o-hae. The
_Roberta_, Capriata's steamer, will not be here for many weeks,
and there is no other in the archipelago just now."

"You shall return with me in the _Jeanne d'Arc_," he replied quickly.
"It may be an arduous voyage for you, but you will be well repaid."

A fortnight later his steersman came running to my cabin to tell me
to be ready at one o'clock in the morning.

The night was a myriad of stars on a vast ebon canopy. One could see
only shadows in denser shadows, and the serene sure movements of the
men as they lifted the whale-boat from Bauda's shed and carried it
lightly to the water were mysterious to me. Their eyes saw where
mine were blind. Pere Victorien and I were seated in the boat, and
they shoved off, breast-deep in the turmoil of the breakers, running
alongside the bobbing craft until it was in the welter of foam and,
then with a chorus, in unison, lifting themselves over the sides and
seizing the oars before the boat could turn broadside to the shore.

"He-ee Nuka-hiva!" they sang in a soft monotone, while they pulled
hard for the mouth of the bay. The priest and I were fairly
comfortable in the stern, the steersman perched behind us on the
very edge of the combing, balancing himself to the rise and fall of
the boat as an acrobat on a rope. I laid my head on my bag and fell
asleep before the sea had been reached. The last sound in my ears
was the voice of Pere Victorien reciting his rosary.

I awoke to find a breeze careening our sail and the _Jeanne d'Arc_
rushing through a pale blue world--pale blue water, pale blue sky,
and, it seemed, pale blue air. No single solid thing but the boat
was to be seen in the indefinite immensity. Sprawling on its bottom
in every attitude of limp relaxation, the oarsmen lay asleep; only Pere
Victorien was awake, his hands on the tiller and his eyes gazing
toward the east.

"_Bonjour!_" said he. "You have slept well. Your angel guardian
thinks well of you. The dawn comes."

I asked him if I might relieve him of tiller and sheet, and he, with
an injunction to keep the sail full and far, unpocketed his breviary,
and was instantly absorbed in its contents.

Our tack wa