“Fanga, I _must_ go back to Suva, but I will return some day,” I whispered, as I looked in fright on the giant trees, wondering if they could hear!
Then the girl fell on her knees, lifted her hands to the forest height, and cried out in this wise:
“Is not the world of love, the magic of the stars, flowers, and deep waters and touch of a maiden’s lips enough for such as you? Are not these trees that sigh over us our dear, great friends, and yours too, O white Papalagi? Who is this great white god that seems sweeter to you than the loving arms of a maid? Hear me, I am daughter of great chief. The village will be your own, chiefs will fawn at your feet and cast nicer fruits and shells at you!”
For a moment I marvelled at the maid’s sudden outburst. I wondered if she had been reading some South Sea novel, so strangely romantic did it all seem.
“I will come again, Loma,” I murmured, as I recovered my senses and gazed steadily into the eyes of that wild girl of the forest. She was little more than a child; many acts of hers had told me that much.
“Farewell, O Papalagi!” she whispered, then she gave a jump and—splash! had dived headlong into the lagoon by our side.
“God, she’s committed suicide!” I thought, as I made to leap into the dark water. I could see only a few ripples where she had disappeared. I put forth my hands to dive, then stopped, for out in the middle of the lagoon up came a tangled mass of hair! It was Fanga’s head. I saw her swimming arms and dusky shoulders twinkle in the moonlight. She was simply swimming across the lagoon, taking the nearest cut back to her native village!
When I awoke in my Suva lodging-house next morning, I discovered that my violin was cracked. But for the scratches on my legs and the wisps of hair from dead men’s grey beards clinging to my blue serge suit, I might have concluded that the whole of my night’s adventures were the outcome of a nightmare. About a week after my adventure in that heathen monastery and with Fanga Loma, I met a chief who claimed to be the son of King Thakombau. He was an intelligent man, and told me a lot about the doings of the old cannibalistic times. When I told him what I had experienced in the heathen monastery of the Kai Tholos, he gave me a hint as to what might have happened to me had I not made my escape. It was this son of Thakombau’s who told me many interesting heathen legends. One legend in particular struck my imagination, for it was about the old goddess Kasawayo, but was so different from the impersonation I had seen in the Kai Tholos temple, that I will do my best to give an impression of all that I heard in the following chapter.