mperceptibly, till her upturned face began to dim. She poised. Ah,
beautiful reluctance! Unaffronted? O heart that aches, that breaks to
give worthy response! He saw her lips moving; he knew what speech they
framed as certainly as though he could hear: your hand upon my
breast--your lips to mine--demanded of him.

Christian fell back, and crouched, and lay sobbing dry-eyed until
twilight drew.

Home he came. By the way none greeted him of all he met, and a many they
were for the hour; and none hooted after him, but shrilling whistles at
his back made him turn to wonder what was afoot. Quick figures dodged
past him and sped.

Apprehension dawned when he crossed the threshold to find two scared
women, and Giles ghastly and bandaged.

'Who did this?'

'An accident, an accident,' muttered the old man, seeing the boy ablaze
with wrath and pity before ever he heard a word.

Out came a tale of outrage: while the house was empty, Lois and Rhoda
away bleaching, the linhay had been forced, and the coral laid there,
Christian's store of precious, sacred coral, looted entire. Giles, coming
on the scene, had been tripped up and left for stunned by one unaware how
an unhappy blade had gashed his fall.

'And who did it?' said Christian, hoarse with his passion.

'Don't say!' ordered Giles, and the women were mute.

'I will know,' he cried, stamped out ungovernable, and beat away.

The three looked at each other, pale and fearful. Then Giles staggered to
his feet. 'Help me after him, wife.'

'Rhoda,' said Lois, 'go quick for his Reverence--if he be abroad, follow
him quick.'

Seething with just indignation, Christian sped reckless after vengeance.
Alarm of his coming sprang up and flew before him along the shore. Thence
struck the ring of axes, thence shone the flare of torches, showing a
black, busy swarm. Like a wounded beast he yelled out once: the Beloved,
his boat, lay there under torture and dismemberment. Then he hurled upon
the throng, raging to kill.

Two went down instantly, damaged for life under his bare hands, but the
rest by sheer weight of numbers overbore him. Axes rose imminent, but
there was no room for a sure stroke in the close, desperate wrestle.
Thrice Christian gained his feet again; then had he no need to strike any
man but once; those he gripped in the downfall had broken bones of him.
Cries and curses thickened, he only fought mute. Foul strokes on him were
fair enough: they struck him together