waves. Yes, she was right; that patch of red hair could belong to but
one man in the Paumotus. It was Levy, the German Jew, the man who had
bought the pearl and carried it away on the Hira. Well, one thing was
evident: The Hira had been lost. The pearl buyer's god of fishermen
and thieves had gone back on him.

She crawled down to the dead man. His shirt had been torn away, and
she could see the leather money belt about his waist. She held her
breath and tugged at the buckles. They gave easier than she had
expected, and she crawled hurriedly away across the sand, dragging the
belt after her. Pocket after pocket she unbuckled in the belt and
found empty. Where could he have put it? In the last pocket of all she
found it, the first and only pearl he had bought on the voyage. She
crawled a few feet farther, to escape the pestilence of the belt, and
examined the pearl. It was the one Mapuhi had found and been robbed of
by Toriki. She weighed it in her hand and rolled it back and forth
caressingly. But in it she saw no intrinsic beauty. What she did see
was the house Mapuhi and Tefara and she had builded so carefully in
their minds. Each time she looked at the pearl she saw the house in
all its details, including the octagon-drop-clock on the wall. That
was something to live for.

She tore a strip from her ahu and tied the pearl securely about her
neck. Then she went on along the beach, panting and groaning, but
resolutely seeking for cocoanuts. Quickly she found one, and, as she
glanced around, a second. She broke one, drinking its water, which was
mildewy, and eating the last particle of the meat. A little later she
found a shattered dugout. Its outrigger was gone, but she was hopeful,
and, before the day was out, she found the outrigger. Every find was
an augury. The pearl was a talisman. Late in the afternoon she saw a