moist in the ti leaves. And we continued down through old Puna,
and feasted and danced and sang at Kohoualea and Kamaili and
Opihikao, and swam in the clear, sweet-water pools of Kalapana.
And in the end came to Hilo by the sea.

"It was the end. We had never spoken. It was the end recognized
and unmentioned. The yacht waited. We were days late. Honolulu
called, and the news was that the King had gone particularly
pupule" (insane), "that there were Catholic and Protestant
missionary plottings, and that trouble with France was brewing. As
they had landed at Kawaihae two weeks before with laughter and
flowers and song, so they departed from Hilo. It was a merry
parting, full of fun and frolic and a thousand last messages and
reminders and jokes. The anchor was broken out to a song of
farewell from Lilolilo's singing boys on the quarterdeck, while we,
in the big canoes and whaleboats, saw the first breeze fill the
vessel's sails and the distance begin to widen.

"Through all the confusion and excitement, Lilolilo, at the rail,
who must say last farewells and quip last jokes to many, looked
squarely down at me. On his head he wore my ilima lei, which I had
made for him and placed there. And into the canoes, to the
favoured ones, they on the yacht began tossing their many leis. I
had no expectancy of hope . . . And yet I hoped, in a small wistful
way that I know did not show in my face, which was as proud and
merry as any there. But Lilolilo did what I knew he would do, what
I had known from the first he would do. Still looking me squarely
and honestly in the eyes, he took my beautiful ilima lei from his
head and tore it across. I saw his lips shape, but not utter
aloud, the single word pau" (finish). "Still looking at me, he