This story, although complete in itself, is the third volume of a trilogy (excuse the pompous word) of which the first was "The Blue Lagoon" and the middle one "The Garden of God." These three books have a certain value, for they are concerned with the Golden Age of the Eastern Pacific, of which I saw the afterglow, if not the sunset, and if you seek the reason of the bitter hatred felt by the prescient mind of Aioma towards the white man, you will find it on the Eastern Pacific beaches to-day. Never in the history of the world has ruin fallen on a people as it has fallen upon the natives of these far islands; nowhere else will you find the remains of a once noble race left in its original setting of pure air, yet stinking of gin and petrol and exhibited at times to the world between the finger and thumb of Romance or Realism. Could it speak, this remnant, would it not say: "White man, you have taken from us all good things but Death; you have given us all bad things but Pride; make one return - Silence. Do not write about us; or, writing, remember only what we were"?