They pant hard and fast a
moment or two; and then, just as the deep flush is dying away from
their faces, slowly recede, all round; thus enlarging the ring.
Again the two leaders wave their hands, when the rest pause; and now,
far apart, stand in the still moonlight like a circle of fairies.
Presently, raising a strange chant, they softly sway themselves,
gradually quickening the movement, until, at length, for a few
passionate moments, with throbbing bosoms and glowing cheeks, they
abandon themselves to all the spirit of the dance, apparently lost to
everything around. But soon subsiding again into the same languid
measure as before, they become motionless; and then, reeling forward
on all sides, their eyes swimming in their heads, join in one wild
chorus, and sink into each other's arms.
Such is the Lory-Lory, I think they call it; the dance of the
backsliding girls of Tamai.
While it was going on, we had as much as we could do to keep the
doctor from rushing forward and seizing a partner.
They would give us no more "hevars" that night; and Rartoo fairly
dragged us away to a canoe, hauled up on the lake shore; when we
reluctantly embarked, and paddling over to the village, arrived there
in time for a good nap before sunrise.
The next day, the doctor went about trying to hunt up the overnight
dancers. He thought to detect them by their late rising; but never
was man more mistaken; for, on first sallying out, the whole village
was asleep, waking up in concert about an hour after. But, in the
course of the day, he came across several whom he at once charged
with taking part in the "hevar." There were some prim-looking fellows
standing by (visiting elders from Afrehitoo, perhaps), and the girls
looked embarrassed; but parried the charge most skilfully.
Though soft as doves, in general, the ladies of Tamai are,
nevertheless, flavoured with a slight tincture of what we queerly
enough call the "devil"; and they showed it on the present occasion.
For when the doctor pressed one rather hard, she all at once turned
round upon him, and, giving him a box on the ear, told him to "hanree
perrar!" (be off with himself.)
CHAPTER LXIV.
MYSTERIOUS
THERE was a little old man of a most hideous aspect living in Tamai,
who, in a coarse mantle of tappa, went about the village, dancing,
and singing, and making faces. He followed us about wherever we went;
and, when unobserved by others, plucked at our garments, making
frightful signs for us to go along with him somewhere, and see
something.
It was in vain that we tried to get rid of him. Kicks and cuffs, even,
were at last resorted to; but, though he howled like one possessed,
he would not go away, but still haunted us.
