The hour before dawn, when "deep sleep falls upon men," found the whole household wrapped in that slumber which was the natural outcome of an anxious and exciting day. But the quick loud bark of an angry dog, subsiding into a sustained suspicious growl, and joined to a woman's scream from the camp of their native adherents, told Cyril Summers that the enemy was at hand. A confused murmur of voices, the trampling of feet, with the ordinary indefinable accompaniments of a body of men, aroused the sleepers with startling suddenness.

Mrs. Summers and Hypatia, like women on a sinking ship, displayed unwonted courage. Dressing themselves and the wondering children in haste, they joined Mr. Summers in the living-room of the cottage at the same moment that it was filled by an excited crowd of the wildest natives which any of the party had ever seen.

The leader, a ferocious-looking Maori, whom Mr. Summers had no difficulty in recognizing as Kereopa, advanced with threatening air towards him; but, seeing that the missionary had no weapon, nor apparently the wish or means to defend himself, he halted abruptly. Behind him stood a crowd of natives, the [Pg 377] greater part of whom had advanced into the room, while others could be seen through the open door between the cottage and the outbuildings. Looking more closely in order to discover if by chance there were among them any of his former servants, Mr. Summers saw, to his horror and disgust, a white man. This renegade, dead to every feeling of manhood, a deserter from his regiment, was one of those abandoned wretches to be found in all new countries, who, associating with savages, encourage them in outrage and rapine. Outcasts from their race, aware that a speedy death by bullet or halter awaits them on capture, they have always been noted as the most remorseless foes of their own people.

Feeling, however, that by interrogating the man he might procure more accurate information than from the dangerously excited chief and his followers, he addressed him.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion at this hour? Ask Kereopa if he has not made some mistake."

The renegade, apparently pleased at being civilly addressed, translated the question, and repeated it to the chief, who in a loud and threatening voice replied—

"Tell the Mikonaree that I, a prophet of the Pai Marire, have received authority from the angel Gabriel to kill or take into captivity all the pakehas, with their wives and daughters, as did the Israelites with the Amalekites."

"Have I ever done you harm? Have I not taught your people to grow the bread-grain, the potato, the vegetables on which they grow strong and healthy?"

"What have you done—what have the white men done?" shouted the wild-eyed chief, now working [Pg 378] himself into an insane fury. "You have taught us your prayers and stolen our lands. You have given us the grain and taken the fields. Where are our brothers, our sons, our chiefs? Slain by your soldiers, after robbing them of their lands—even Waitara and Tataraimaka. They are cold in the ground on which they planted and feasted, but which now only serves them for graves."

"Surely you would not kill people with no arms in their hands. Which of our missionaries has ever fired a gun even in defence of his life?"

"The priests of your people do not fight, but they act as spies; they have betrayed our plans to the pakeha general. They will all be killed, like Volkner, to show the world that we shall have no spies, no false prophets, no priests of Baal, amongst us. Prepare to die, even as Volkner died, whose head, with that of the pakeha Boyd, is with us. Let their hands be tied."

At once several eager warriors sprang forward, by whom the women and the missionary were seized. Their hands were bound behind them with strips of the native flax, which effectively rendered them helpless captives.

"You will die when the sun goes down," he said, indicating Cyril Summers. "Call on your God to help you. The rope is ready, and the tree on which you will hang, as did Volkner. But all are not here. Where is the wounded pakeha, and the Ngapuhi girl Erena?"

"They have gone; they went yesterday."

"Which path was theirs? If you deceive me, great suffering will be yours before you die."

[Pg 379]

"They went into the forest; that is all I can say. The God in whom I trust will save me from cruelty at your hands."

A native at this time said some words in the Maori tongue which seemed for the time to allay the wrath of the raging wild beast into which Kereopa was transformed.

"It is well. Their tracks will be found; Ngarara is a keen hunter when the prey is near. He is pursuing the Ngapuhi girl Erena, whose heart the pakeha soldier has stolen from him. He will cut his heart out of his breast and eat it before her eyes. I will give her to him for a slave. All the pakeha women shall be slaves to the men of the Pai Marire when the day of deliverance shall come. Hau-Hau, Hau-Hau, Hau-Hau!"

Here the countenance of the half-insane savage became changed into the likeness of a ferocious beast, as he yelled out the war-cry of the sect, which was immediately caught up and re-echoed, dog-like, by every individual in the maniacal crowd. With eyes almost reversed in their sockets, with tongue protruding, with the foam flying from his lips, and every human feature lost in the bestial transformation, he resembled less a human being than a monstrous demon from the lowest pit of Acheron.

Mrs. Summers fainted, the children screamed piteously, and Cyril made one step forward, as if, even with his fettered hands, he essayed to do battle with the destroying fiend. He was immediately seized by two powerful natives, who had been standing near him, and forced back to his former position. Realizing his utter helplessness, he groaned aloud as he [Pg 380] saw Hypatia bending over his wife's drooping form, while she adjured her to preserve her presence of mind for the sake of the terrified children and her unhappy husband.

"We shall need all our strength to carry us through this ordeal," she said. "We need it for prayer and faith, which, even in this dark hour, will save us."

As she spoke, the brave spirit of the devoted wife and mother recalled her to life and consciousness. She gazed on the strange surroundings of their once peaceful home, and after giving vent to her emotions in one wild burst of tears, resumed her efforts at composure.

Fortunately for the overwrought feelings of the captives, a diversion at this critical moment was effected through an unusual noise beginning among the natives clustered beyond and around the open door. A cry, whether of warning or triumph, came from the forest path; gradually it swelled into greater distinctness, until it resolved itself into the well-known shout of triumph which proclaimed the capture of an enemy of note. It was then seen, by the full dawn light now breaking through the masses of gloom, to proceed from a body of men emerging from the forest. The leaders of the party were dancing and singing with an exuberance which betokened victory and triumph. When the whole body debouched from the wood, it was seen to have in its midst a litter borne by four men, beside whom walked a girl with haughty and defiant mien. She looked more like a barbaric queen than a captive taken in war, as her fettered wrists showed her to be. Her attendants had been similarly treated, with the exception of the bearers, who were so closely surrounded that their [Pg 381] escape had been considered improbable. By the time they had reached the open space behind the cottage, the whole party, including Kereopa, had quitted the room, and joined in the tremendous volume of triumphant yells and cries which rent the air.

"Let the pakeha wahine come forth and look upon their friends," said Kereopa, with devilish malice. "They will see how the prophets of the Pai Marire obey the message of the angels, how the sword of the Lord and Gideon is made sharp for the evil-doer, and how the convert from the Ngapuhi is rewarded in the hour of victory."

Fearful of further violence, Cyril Summers had partially supported his wife, followed by the shuddering children, to the porch, around which in happier days he had pleased himself with training a clematis. Hypatia stepped forward with wide eyes, as expectant of instant tragedy. Almost unheeding of her own danger, and the fearful position in which all were placed, she could not repress her interest in Massinger, as with almost equal eagerness she looked at Erena. He lay back on the rude pillow which had been placed below his head, deathly pale, and only exhibiting consciousness through his heaving breast and the movements of his eyes. But when she turned her gaze upon the dauntless form of Erena Mannering, all womanly jealousy was obliterated by the glow of admiration which the girl's regal bearing and fearless spirit evoked in her. She moved among the fierce crowd of half-doubtful, half-bloodthirsty Hau-Haus with the air of a princess among pariahs. Upon those who pressed closely to her side she from time to time bestowed a glance of scorn and menace, accompanied [Pg 382] by a few words in their own tongue, from which they shrank as from a missile. Her eyes blazed as they were turned upon Kereopa, who with sneering smile approached her, pointing to the half-inanimate form of Massinger.

"The pakeha is sick; the pakeha is tired," he said with affected regret. "It is wrong that he was carried so far. His wound must be unhealed. The Pai Marire grieve. He will not stand the fire well, tomorrow. There will be a haka too, in honour of Ngarara's marriage, which he must first witness."

"Dog of the Hau-Haus!" said the indignant maiden, with all the scorn and wrath of a line of chiefs shining from her storm-litten eyes. "Speak you to a war-chief's daughter of the Ngapuhi as to a slave-woman? What false tohunga have ye, that thy doom and that of thy herd of swine is concealed from thee? See thy future fate, as in that darkening cloud, coming nearer and yet nearer!" As she spoke, she pointed to a thunder-cloud which, after the mists of the morning, had gathered size and volume, and was now moving with the course of the dawn-wind towards them. Such was the majesty of her mien, such the tragic earnestness of her tones, as she stood, like a priestess of old, denouncing wrong and oppression, that the crowd, deeply superstitious as is the race, turned instinctively towards the approaching phenomenon; and when the thunder rolled, and the jagged fire-stream issued from the ebon, a shuddering sound was audible, which showed how deeply fear of the supernatural was rooted in the native mind. "Behold!" said the fearless, inspired maiden, as she raised her hand and pointed to the sky, "the Atua [Pg 383] of the Storm has spoken! Beware how you touch a hair of our heads. Shed the blood of these pakehas, who have never done your nation aught but good, who are now helpless in your hands—torture this sick soldier—and not a man here will be alive when the moon is dark!"

As Erena uttered the words of doom, she paused for a moment, while the audience gazed around, as if waiting for some physical manifestation in answer to her words. Kereopa preserved his expression of malicious unbelief, as though willing to torment his captives with all the dreadful uncertainty which might comport with a treacherous delay. Glancing at him for a moment with unutterable scorn, she left her position, and, moving to the side of the litter, gazed into the face of the sick man with anxious tenderness.

But it was evident that the natives generally had attached more meaning to her words than could have been expected. She had stirred their blood and aroused their superstitious fears. This killing of pakehas, except in fair fight, had always been regarded as unlucky. Terrible penalties had been exacted, even when the offence in war-time had seemed to them trifling and unimportant. Then, this Erena Mannering was the daughter of a man more fierce and implacable even than their own warriors—a war-chief of the Ngapuhi, and as such likely to exact a memorable revenge. The Pai Marire was only of recent date. There were even now rival seers and prophets, as in the case of Parata, who withstood Kereopa, and had bitterly reproached him for the barbarous murder of the missionary Volkner. There was a movement of doubt and opposition afoot, which [Pg 384] was evidently strengthened, as an aged warrior came forward and addressed the natives.

"Men of the Pai Marire," he said, "let us beware of going too far in this matter, lest we offend a more powerful Atua than those of the Hau-Haus, whom we knew of but a short while since. If we kill the soldiers of the pakehas, who have killed our sons and brothers"—here the old man's features worked convulsively—"taken our lands, and burned our kaingas, that is just, that is utu. But to kill the Mikonaree, who fights not with guns or swords, who teaches the children the pukapuka, who heals the sick and feeds the hungry, that is not tika. The Atua of the Storm has spoken." Here another volley of heaven's artillery shook the air, as the lightning played in menacing proximity to the disturbed and upturned faces of his hearers. "Beware lest worse things than the slaughter of chiefs at Te Ranga happen to us."

A strong feeling of indecision was now apparent in the excited crowd, who but an hour since were eager for blood and flames, the death of the men, the leading into captivity of the women and children. It is possible that the mass vote of the Hau-Haus would have gone against Kereopa, who was not an hereditary chief of importance, only an obscure individual, lifted by superior cunning and energy to power in disturbed times. But at that moment the malignant face of Ngarara was seen to emerge from among the last arrivals, and his voice was heard.

"Men of the Pai Marire, listen not to the words of age and fear! He speaks the words of the pakehas and their lying priests. The prophets of the Pai Marire have foretold that the Hau-Haus are to rule the land, [Pg 385] to drive the pakeha into the sea, whence in an evil hour they came, to inhabit their towns, and to take their wives and daughters as slaves. Even now, the Ngatitoa are marching to Omata, whence they will capture Taranaki with all the pakeha's treasure. It has been foretold that the Pai Marire shall increase as the sands of the sea, that all the tribes shall join from the Hokianga to Korararika. I have left the Ngapuhi to follow the Pai Marire, and I know that the tribe, except a few old men, have resolved to abandon Waka Nene and his pakeha friends, and to give the young chiefs authority to lead. You have but to join the march to Waikato, and the land of Maui is yours again."

"You have well spoken," shouted Kereopa, whose fierce visage was now aflame with wrath, and the half-insane gleam of whose eyes told of that fanatical ecstasy which is akin to demoniacal possession. "The land will be ours, the pakeha's treasures shall be ours; his women shall work in our fields and carry burdens, even as the women of the South were wont to do after our raids. Place the head on the niu, and let the war-dance begin. The angel has again spoken to me, and I am commanded to cause the sword of the Lord and Gideon to be reddened with the blood of the Amorites."

Then commenced a scene of savage triumph, appalling, revolting, almost beyond the power of words to describe. The fury of the excited natives appeared to have transformed them into the brutish presentments of the herd of animals which surrounded the fabled enchantress. The head of the unfortunate Captain Boyd, raised on a pole planted in the ground, was surrounded by a yelling mass dancing around it, [Pg 386] with fiendish gestures of rage and derision. All likeness of manhood seemed obliterated, and the ancient world would seem to have been reproduced, with a company of anthropoids devoid of human speech, and capable only of the purely animal expression of the baser passions.

What the feelings of the forlorn captives were, thus delivered into the hands of the most remorseless foes of their race, can scarcely be imagined or described. They deemed themselves at that moment to be abandoned by man, forgotten of God. A dreadful death, horrors unspeakable, degradation irrevocable, awaited them. Like a fated crew awaiting their doom upon a sinking ship, all sensation was perhaps deadened, absorbed in despairing expectation of the last agony immediately preceding death.

The Christians summoned from their cells to the arena in the reign of Nero must have had like experiences. Alike the agony of despair, the doubt of Eternal Justice, the shrinking of the frail flesh about to be delivered to the hungry beasts of prey, the torturing flame, the gloating regard of the pitiless populace. All these were apparently to be their portion in this so-called civilized century, this boasted age of light, of freedom, of art, and intellectual environment.

Similar thoughts may have passed through the mind of Hypatia Tollemache, as she recalled her classical studies, and saw the blood-soaked arena of the Roman amphitheatre before her, of which the essential features were now in rude and grotesque presentment.

And had it all come to this? Was all the labour, the self-denial, the toilsome day, the weary night, the exile, the home-sickness, but to end thus? Not for [Pg 387] herself did she mourn, perhaps, so much; not for the warrior maid, whose high courage and inherited traditions enabled her to defy insult and brave death. They had courted the danger and must now pay the price. With Massinger, too, his chief regret would be that he could not stand in the ranks as at Rangariri and Orakau, dealing death around, and fighting breast to breast with the ruthless foe. And though death by tortures, dreadful and protracted, such as all had heard of in old Maori wars (and it was whispered around camp-fires was not wholly obsolete), was gruesome and unnatural, still it was, in a rude sense, the payment lawfully exacted by the victors. But for these mild and gentle teachers of the Word, who had, for nearly a decade, wearied every faculty of mind and body in the service of their heathen destroyers, it was indeed a hard and cruel fate. She saw, in imagination, Cyril Summers dragged to the fatal tree, with the rope around his neck, as was that steadfast servant of the Lord, Carl Volkner. She saw the ashen face and stricken limbs of Mary Summers, as, all-expectant of her own and her children's fate, she would witness the death and mutilation of her beloved partner. What was the mercy, the justice, of that Supreme Being to whom they had bowed the knee in prayer since infancy, where was an overruling Providence, if this tragedy was permitted to be played out to the last dreadful scene? Where, alas! could one turn for aid or consolation?

Such thoughts went coursing through her brain, mingled with such curious and even trifling observation, unconsciously made, as during the fast-fleeting moments of life have often been noted to occupy the mind. She looked mechanically at the war-dance [Pg 388] still being performed by the exulting savages, varied by the devilish rites, if such they could be called, performed around the dead officer's head, which with awful eyes appeared to stare down upon the unholy crew. Cyril Summers and his wife were kneeling in prayer; the children, having exhausted themselves in weeping, were examining the débris of their household gods. Hypatia herself, with her masses of bright hair thrown back from her face, and carelessly tied in a knot behind her head, was leaning against the doorsill, in position not unlike the Christian maiden in a great picture, where each martyr is bound to a pillar in the amphitheatre, when she saw Erena move more closely to Massinger's couch and whisper in his ear. The Maori guard was temporarily occupied, as an expert, in noting the evolutions of the war-dance, and had relaxed his watch. The sick man lay motionless, but the languid eyes opened; a gleam of hope—or was it the fire of despair?—was visible, with a slight change of expression.

"She knows something; she has told him," thought Hypatia, as she moved cautiously but slowly, and very warily, within hearing.

At this time the supreme saltatory expression of triumph was being enacted. The noise was deafening, so that the clear tones of Erena's rich voice were audible.

"This is nearly the end of the war-dance; then the murders and the torture will commence. The torture will last all night; they will take out Roland and tie him to a stake, cutting pieces of flesh from his body. Poor fellow! there is not much on his bones. As for us, we shall be carried away to the Uriwera country."

"You want to frighten me to death," said Hypatia. [Pg 389] "What dreadful things even to speak of! Can we not kill ourselves? I never thought I should wish to do that. I can now feel for others who have done so."

"They have prevented it. Our hands are tied. There is no river here; no precipice, or we could throw ourselves over, as our women have often done."

"You seem strangely indifferent, Erena. I cannot think you heartless; but on the verge of death, or a captivity infinitely worse, surely you cannot jest about our position?"

"Far from it. My whole heart is quivering with excitement and anxiety; for his life, which I value a thousand times more than my own, is trembling in the balance. But, after all, I do not really think these dreadful things will come to pass."

"Why? What reason have you?"

"You remember that I came in late, the day after our arrival—on the day when I wished to go on with our journey?"

"Now I do remember. You looked as though you had been a long way."

"I had indeed. I went back on our tracks very nearly as far as the cave where Roland lay concealed, when we brought him away from the Gate Pah. I thought I might meet some of my father's people, who would have made short work of these bloodthirsty Hau-Haus. But he had gone off towards Opotiki, as a report had come of another rising. But luckily I met some one, and it will go far to save our lives."

"Who was it?" asked Hypatia, breathlessly.

"It was Winiata. He had heard of these Hau-Haus being on the march, and that Ngarara had persuaded Kereopa to follow us up."

[Pg 390]

"And what aid did he give you?"

"Merely this—that a body of Ngatiporu were following up this taua, led by the most dreaded warrior in all New Zealand, Ropata Waha Waha."

At the mention of this name, so well known throughout the length and breadth of New Zealand—
"In close fight a champion grim, In camps a leader sage"—

Hypatia could hardly repress a cry of joy.

"Then perhaps we may be saved, after all."

"If he comes in time; and God grant he may. He should be very close now. And I know Winiata will travel without rest or food till he strikes his trail. And yet I have a foreboding that one of us will die. So said the tohunga, whose words never failed yet. I cannot shake off the feeling."

"You have overworked yourself," said Hypatia. "You can have had little rest, food, or sleep since you left yesterday. It is the result of fatigue and anxiety."

"Anxiety has too often been my lot," said the girl, with a deep accent of sadness. "But fatigue I never felt yet. These wretches are spinning out their dance. They had better make the most of it. If all goes well, it is the last some of them will ever join in. Now, listen! Do you hear nothing?"

Hypatia bent her ear towards the forest, and listened with all the eagerness which the situation demanded. A faint murmur once, and once only, made itself audible.

"It is the sound of the breeze among the pines," said she at length.

"Listen again! Do you hear nothing?"

[Pg 391]

"Only a far-off sound like the rippling of the river. Once I thought I heard the trampling of feet; but it must be a mistake."

"It is no mistake," said Erena. "I hear the steady tramp of a large body of men; and so would these fools, if they were not too much occupied with their absurd dance, which they intend to finish up with blood. And so it will; but not as they think."

The war-dance, with its stamps and roars, its shuddering hisses and accurate evolutions as if of one man, was drawing to a close. Already one of the foremost warriors, at a sign from Kereopa, had placed a rope round the neck of Cyril Summers, who had commenced in a final prayer to commend his soul and his loved ones to the protection of their Maker, when a shout from a number of unknown voices made the forest ring, and caused the crowd of Hau-Haus to turn their faces in that direction. At the same moment a close and well-directed volley was poured in, which laid fully one-half of them low, and wounded a much larger number. Then a man stalked calmly forward, sword in hand, whose sudden apparition created as much consternation among the Hau-Haus as if he had been a Destroying Angel specially commissioned for their extirpation. One look at the stern features and martial form of him who stood calm and unmoved amid the pattering hail of bullets, with which the Hau-Haus strove to return the fire, was sufficient for most of the Pai Marire. With a wild cry of "Ropata Waha Waha!" which came tremulously from their lips, they fled in all directions in a state of the most abject terror. And well might they or other rebels take panic at the sight of him who [Pg 392] stood exposed to danger, both from friends and foes, as though the thick-flying bullets were thistledown.

The hostile tribes were fully of opinion that he bore a charmed life, that no shot had power to harm him, probably in consequence of Satanic influence. Hence his sobriquet of Waha Waha was strangely suggestive of an unholy alliance between the Prince of Darkness and the cool strategist and remorseless warrior, to whom fear and mercy were alike unknown. A target for the best marksmen in a hundred fights, himself chiefly unarmed, he had never received a wound or spared an enemy. As he stood there, with an expression of scorn and concentrated rage upon his expressive features, with dripping sword and blazing eyes, he might well have stood for a portrait of an avenging angel, or indeed Azrael, the minister of Death, in all his lurid majesty.

Kereopa and his principal followers, who had fled at the first onset, probably thought that they had a fair chance of escape. But Ropata, with his usual astuteness, had formed a cordon around the Hau-Hau band, into which the surprised natives ran, only to find themselves shot down or captured. Among the latter were eleven members of his own tribe, the Aowera. Of these he proceeded to make an example upon the spot. Calling them out of the group of captives by name, he thus addressed them—

"You are about to die. I do not kill you because you are found in arms against the pakehas. But I forbade you to join the Hau-Haus. You have disobeyed me; you must now pay the penalty."

Having revolvers handed to him, he then shot every man with his own hand.

[Pg 393]

"Bring forward the deserter."

The soldier, a man of the 57th, bound and helpless, was then led up.

"You," he said, addressing the renegade, "are a disgrace to your regiment and to your country. You are said to have shot two of your own officers in battle. You have helped these natives to commit crimes which are a thousand times worse than open war. You will kill no pakehas or natives after today."

With the instinct of a born leader, Ropata had taken in the various points of the situation at a glance, and issued his orders with the promptitude which the crucial moment demanded.

"Release the pakehas. Kill that Hau-Hau dog holding the rope, and hang up the deserter with it; he is not worthy of a soldier's death. Bind that Ngapuhi; he shall answer to his own chief."

These orders, coming from a man who rarely had occasion to speak twice, were obeyed on the instant. The amateur executioner was tomahawked before his surprise permitted him to drop the rope. Cyril Summers was freed, and the deserter was run up to the branch of the willow tree destined for his martyrdom. The cords which bound Erena and her attendants were loosed by willing hands, the men and even the women promptly possessing themselves of weapons from their dead captors.

Ngarara's countenance, when he saw himself at once baulked of his revenge and cheated of his prey, was a study of all the evil passions which degrade the human race to the level of the brute. Such is the phrase, unfair indeed to the animal creation, which, however unsparing in its allotted course of action, is [Pg 394] never guilty of the calculated cruelty of la bête humaine. For one moment he stood indifferent to his coming fate as Ropata himself; then, drawing his revolver, fired point-blank at Massinger, who had raised himself to a sitting posture with Erena's assistance, and was watching the conflict with an eagerness which betokened a partial renewal of strength. As he raised the weapon Erena flung herself before her lover, with an instinctive movement of protection. Passing her right arm around his neck, she lowered him to his pillow, with all the heroic tenderness which from time immemorial has characterized the woman as nurse and ministering angel. With a grin of fiendish malice Ngarara parried the tomahawk blow aimed at him by a blood-bespattered Aowera, and, eluding his clutch, dashed into the forest and disappeared.

The fray was over. The Hau-Hau prisoners were securely bound. Sullen and despairing, they stood in a circle on the spot where their war-dance and the Pai Marire rites had been performed. The derision of their captors was openly expressed. The bodies of their comrades and relations lay around in all the hideous abandon of the death-agony. From the tall pole the head of the ill-fated soldier still stared with eyeless sockets and bared teeth on the ghastly scene—it might have been fancied with grim triumph and exultation; while from the willow tree dangled the corpse of the deserter, an unconscious witness, where he had so lately posed as an actor.

As if the dreadful spectacle had a fascination which they could not resist, or that their miraculous deliverance had rendered them incapable of connected [Pg 395] thought, the destined victims had remained almost in their positions taken up previous to the arrival of Ropata and his contingent.

Mrs. Summers had sunk down on a sofa which had been dislodged from its position, with her children, wondering and tearful, beside her. The female attendants of Erena were clustered around their mistress. Cyril Summers, over whom the bitterness of death had passed, stood by his wife, gazing with awe-struck eyes into the distance, while his moving lips from time to time gave token that he was returning thanks to that Almighty Being to whom he had appealed in his darkest hour. While Hypatia, wrapped in a world of strange and awful phantasy, still stood by the outer entrance of the porch, looking straight in front of her, at this weird melodrama of human life, in which the reality so often transcends the unrealities of the "fantastic realm."

Erena and Roland Massinger had preserved their position unaltered, except that, from one of support, the girl gradually sank forward, until her head rested on her lover's breast. A cry from one of the Maori girls arrested the attention of all. Hypatia, roused from her trance, rushed over to find two of them raising Erena from her reclining position, with looks of alarm, while the arterial blood which welled up from her bosom told of a mortal wound. Massinger's death-pale countenance, stained with blood, as were the coverings of his couch, seemed to denote that these lovers, thrown together by such fortuitous circumstances in life, were fated to be undivided in death.

Though Massinger was unwounded by the bullet which, aimed with fatal accuracy, had pierced the [Pg 396] bosom of Erena, his situation was most critical. For her there was no hope. The lung had been perforated; the laboured breathing showed but too truly that death was imminent. In Massinger's case the appearances were hardly more promising. The rude treatment to which he had been subjected after his capture had caused the partly healed wound to break out afresh. He was rapidly approaching the state of mortal weakness to which Erena was succumbing. Such was only too probable; but Cyril Summers, who had gone through a course of instruction in surgery, was enabled to stop his bleeding, and to afford temporary relief to Erena.

Massinger at first resented the proffered aid. "Why trouble me?" he said resentfully. "She has given her life to save mine; it were base of me to survive her at such a cost. Let us die together. My life belongs to her, who has now saved it for the third time."

"Then it is mine to dispose of," came the answer, in her low rich tones. "I die happy, since you are saved. If the bullet of Ngarara had found your breast instead of mine, I would have followed you to the spirit-land. You do not doubt that—oh, my darling—my own beloved! The sun would not have gone down before I should have commenced my journey to the reinga."

"Erena," said Massinger, "have I ever doubted your love, true alike in life and the dark realm, to which we are hastening?"

"Raise me," she said, "that I may see his face once more. My eyes are darkening. Oh, my beloved!"—and her soft voice faltered, and became hollow and inexpressibly mournful—"I have loved you with every [Pg 397] fibre of my being, with every motion of my heart! The pakeha girl loves you also, though she cared not to own it, in her own land. She will live for you in the days that are to come—days of peace and happiness, now that the war is over. Would she die for you as I have done? Yes; for she is noble, she is true. She would have scorned to take your love from poor Erena, even had you offered it. Her soul lay open to me—and yours. You were true to your word. She was too proud to steal your heart from the poor Maori girl. And now, farewell—farewell for ever—oh, my loved one! I die happy. I have given my life for yours—what does a daughter of the Ngapuhi wish more?"

She leaned forward and hid her head on the breast of her lover, while her long black tresses flowed over his pillow, as her arms strained him to that faithful bosom, still warm with the heart's purest feelings. Reverently the little group of spectators gazed on the dying girl. Sobs and lamentations came from the women of her own race, while tears flowed fast from the eyes of Mary Summers and Hypatia.

Raising herself for a moment, she motioned to Hypatia to come nearer. Her dark eyes glowed with transient light as she kissed her hand; then laying it in that of Massinger, she whispered—

"He is yours now. May all happiness befall you! Yet forget not—oh! forget not—poor Erena."

A deep sigh followed the last words. Her head fell back; the hand which Massinger and Hypatia held was pulseless. The faithful spirit of the nymph of the wood and stream, the fabled Oread of the old-world poets, had passed away.

[Pg 398]

The tragedy at Oropi, so nearly completed, might have been averted, but for an unlucky accidental circumstance, the occurrence of which embittered the remainder of Allister Mannering's life. And yet he could not wholly abandon himself to self-accusation and ceaseless regrets, inasmuch as he had quitted the trail on which, as the avenger of blood, he was pursuing the Hau-Hau band, in order to save the lives of innocent and helpless people.

He, indeed, with his contingent, would have arrived at Oropi on the same day as Ropata, or, perhaps, earlier. He would then have been able to prevent the preliminary sufferings of the missionary household, and could have ensured the safety of his beloved daughter and only child. The cause of his leaving the direct track to the mission station of Cyril Summers was sufficiently imperative—such as, indeed, no man of ordinary humanity could disregard.

A panting mes............