With untiring love the wife watched and aided her husband. Together they built a little bower out of view from the upper edges of the crater, under the spreading branches of a kukui tree. A little pool, fed by the constant drip from the over-hanging wall, supplied them with pure water. Near at hand, under a mass of ferns, maile and ieie, was the mouth of the cavern. She grew familiar with its turns and windings, till she almost dared to brave its black recesses without a torch. In one of its dry and sheltered windings, she stored articles of food and clothing thinking that sometime a watch might be stationed at the home on the hill-side and she could not venture out. But days melted into weeks; weeks became months: two years passed, and their hiding place was not discovered. No one came, though Keawe often longed to see the faces of friends. But they were afraid to venture near and the cavern echoed only to her feet, and the silence of the deep pit was only broken by their voices and the music of the birds. At times a sudden gust rushed down the steep sides and every tree waved and bowed and quivered. The sunlight only touched the bottom in summer and then for a few minutes only. But it was not gloomy, the glorious sky was always there and the brilliant light, and the bloom and fragrance filled the air. No, it was not always bright, sometimes tempests whirled far over their heads; trees in the world above tossed their branches over the abyss, leaves and twigs fell gently, or branches, and once, a tree, were hurled down with deafening noise. The roar of thunder, and vast sheets and torrents of rain filled the pit. Once, in a still night, they were startled and terrified by a sudden boom far below their feet and the earth shook, stones rattled down the rocky sides of the abyss, and they remembered the dread power of the volcano. “It is Pele! she is angry with us!” cried Lilia. “No,” replied her husband, “we have thrown ourselves into the protecting bosom of the Goddess! We are safe in her arms.” They were safe from human sight and interference, and Lilia’s soul feasted in the presence of him she loved. She poured out upon him such a wealth of devotion, that a miser might have envied. But alas, though safe from man, he was under the fell power of disease, and slowly yielded. Day after day he grew weaker and less able to help himself, until the fond wife performed the most menial tasks. But they were not menial to her. Everything for him was a glory and a joy. “I cannot last long” he said one day, “and I want you to have my lands. Get your mother’s young husband, the lawyer, to come, that it may be settled.” He came, and, looking wonderingly about, prepared a deed which he said would accomplish the object. Keawe was not satisfied. “It sounds wrong—why should the name of your wife appear?” he asked. “She’s your wife’s mother,” was the reply, “and you cannot convey to your wife direct. When this deed is recorded my wife can then convey to your wife.