motionless, as if carved from rock, his eyes fixed on the troubled waters. Taori might be their chief, but the wisdom of Aioma they knew of old, and seeing him undisturbed, they remained calm, waiting.
The voice of Poni broke the silence:
“She is coming back.”
The flood was returning, the swirl at the break had ceased and a wave broke on the coral of the outer beach; the line of white caps died away, the Karaka rock ceased to spout, moment by moment the sea resumed her lost rhythm as breaker on breaker came in filling the air again with the old accustomed sound.
A great sigh went up from the people. All was over.
Yet Aioma did not move.
Dick, who had followed with the others, stood beside Katafa. He noticed that the schooner was swinging back to her old position, the incoming tide setting her again bow to the break, that the sea had regained its accustomed appearance, and that the lagoon was filling. All was right again.
Yet Aioma did not move. He stood with his eyes fixed to the far north. Then, suddenly, he turned and sprang from the rock.
“To the trees—to the trees!” He was no longer a man, he was a whirlwind, he rushed on the people with arms outspread, and, turning, they broke and ran.
“To the trees—to the trees!”
A hundred voices caught up the cry, the groves echoed it in a flash, the beach and coral stood empty,
