But her
whitened face, upon which the dews of death were gathering, warned me
she had not many moments to live.
"Kiss me, Peter," she whispered. "It is better that I should go. You do
not love me; you cannot love me as I love you. There is some one else
whom you love. I know it; I have felt it. Go to her, Peter, but do not
quite forget me."
These were her last words, and, when I kissed her, Melannie, Queen of
the Island of Gems, had crossed the waters of the Great Divide. Next
day I consigned her body to the deep wrapped in her robe of white tapa
cloth which formed her shroud.
I was now alone upon the waste of waters, with barely three days'
provisions between me and a slow and painful death. To add to my
anxieties I could see that the weather, which had been calm and fine
since my leaving the island, was about to change. Storm clouds gathered
on the horizon. The sun was obscured. Rain fell, and the wind rose
until it blew with the force of a tempest. I managed, with difficulty,
to unship the sail, and devoted myself to baling the boat, which
threatened at any moment to be swamped by the green water which came
aboard of her. All that day, and the next, I was driven by the storm
whither I knew not.
Pages:
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146