Carefully avoiding the lights, he reached his own side of the island without accident, and, guided by the boat's lantern, anchored under the cliff. He climbed the rocks, advanced to the door of the hut, and was met, to his delight and astonishment, by Aimata on the threshold. "I dreamed that some dreadful misfortune had parted us forever," she said; "and I came here to see if my dream was true. You have taught me what it is to be miserable; I never felt my heart ache till I looked into the hut and found that you had gone. Now I have seen you, I am satisfied. No! you must not go back with me. My father may be out looking for me. It is you that are in danger, not I. I know the forest as well by dark as by daylight." The Captain detained her when she tried to leave him. "Now you _are_ here," he said, "why should I not place you at once in safety? I have been to the ship; I have brought back one of the boats. The darkness will befriend us--let us embark while we can." She shrank away as he took her hand. "You forget my father!" she said. "Your father is in no danger, my love. The canoes are waiting for him at the cape; I saw the lights as I passed." With that reply he drew her out of the hut and led her toward the sea. Not a breath of the breeze was now to be felt. The dead calm had returned--and the boat was too large to be easily managed by one man alone at the oars. "The breeze may come again," he said. "Wait here, my angel, for the chance." As he spoke, the deep silence of the forest below them was broken by a sound. A harsh wailing voice was heard, calling: "Aimata! Aimata!" "My father!" she whispered; "he has missed me. If he comes here you are lost." She kissed him with passionate fervor; she held him to her for a moment with all her strength. "Expect me at daybreak," she said, and disappeared down the landward slope of the cliff. He listened, anxious for her safety. The voices of the father and daughter just reached him from among the trees. The Priest spoke in no angry tones; she had apparently found an acceptable excuse for her absence. Little by little, the failing sound of their voices told him that they were on their way back together to the Temple. The silence fell again. Not a ripple broke on the beach. Not a leaf rustled in the forest. Nothing moved but the reflected flashes of the volcano on the main island over the black sky. It was an airless and an awful calm. He went into the hut, and laid down on his bed of leaves--not to sleep, but to rest. All his energies might be required to meet the coming events of the morning. After the voyage to and from the ship, and the long watching that had preceded it, strong as he was he stood in need of repose. For some little time he kept awake, thinking. Insensibly the oppression of the intense heat, aided in its influence by his own fatigue, treacherously closed his eyes. In spite of himself, the weary man fell into a deep sleep.