t be able to come back to shore and to tell Rui
Tehini, 'I have slept upon the ship of Teriitera.'" After that we passed
that night in the impatience of grief. Towards eight o'clock I seemed to
hear your voice, "Teriitera--Rui--here is the hour for putter and tiro"
(cheese and syrup). I did not sleep that night, thinking continually of
you, my very dear friend, until the morning: being then awake I went to
see Tapina Tutu on her bed, and alas, she was not there. Afterwards I
looked into your rooms; they did not please me as they used to do. I did
not hear your voice crying, "hail Rui." I thought then that you had
gone, and that you had left me. Rising up I went to the beach to see
your ship, and I could not see it. I wept, then, till the night, telling
myself continually, "Teriitera returns into his own country and leaves
his dear Rui in grief, so that I suffer for him, and weep for him." I
will not forget you in my memory. Here is the thought: I desire to meet
you again. It is my dear Teriitera makes the only riches I desire in
this world. It is your eyes that I desire to see again. It must be that
your body and my body shall eat together at our table: there is what
would make my heart content. But now we are separated. May God be with
you all. May His word and His mercy go with you, so that you may be well
and we also, according to the words of Paul.

ORI A ORI; that is to say, RUI.

After reading this to me Louis has left in tears saying that he is not
worthy that such a letter should be written to him. We hope to so manage
that we shall stop at Tahiti and see Rui once more. I tell myself that
pleasant story when I wake in the night.

I find my head swimming so that I cannot write any more. I wish some
rich Catholic would send a parlour organ to Pere Bruno of Tautira. I am
going to try and save money to do it myself, but he may die before I
have enough. I feel ashamed to be sitting here when I think of that old
man who cannot draw because of scrivener's paralysis, who has no one
year in and year out to speak to but natives (our Rui is a Protestant
not bigoted like the rest of them--but still a Protestant) and the only
pastime he has is playing on an old broken parlour organ whose keys are
mostly dumb. I know no more pathetic figure. Have you no rich Catholic
friends who would send him an organ that he could play upon? Of course I
am talking nonsense, and yet I know somewhere that person exists if only
I knew th