CHAPTER XIV

Miss Tollemache had settled down at Oropi to the performance of her daily duties, and, like Massinger, commenced to discover that New Zealand was a most interesting, not to say exciting, place of abode. After completing her portion of the household work, which she gladly took upon herself in order to spare her friend's failing strength, she applied herself diligently to the study of the Maori tongue and the historical records of this newer Britain. The genial climate and regular exercise acted upon her constitution so favourably that she soon attained the fullest measure of health and spirits. Never yet had she felt stronger in mind and body, never yet so eager for opportunity to devote herself to the good work spread so abundantly before her. She was rewarded primarily by noting the gradual improvement of Mrs. Summers' health, and receiving the heartfelt thanks of the Reverend Cyril, who, between domestic troubles, parochial duties, and a natural apprehension of danger to his defenceless household, sorely needed aid and support. Such he found, in addition to intellectual companionship, in the presence of this high-souled, devoted maiden, whom he did not hesitate to say the providence of God had sent to them in their distress. [Pg 303] As a school-friend of his wife's, a closer companionship and more sympathetic intimacy was established than could have been possible with any other inmate. Would but this wretched war end, and a lasting peace be established, he felt as if their future lot might be one of almost unalloyed happiness.

As for Hypatia, her fearless, eager spirit, scornful of obstacles and inglorious ease, rejoiced in the difficulties of the position. After a laborious day's work, during which she astonished the Maori handmaids by the energy which she threw into her household tasks, working in common with them, and eagerly possessing herself of the vernacular, she pored over Maori grammars and dictionaries with an ardour not inferior to that which had secured her the unique academical distinctions of her year. She learned the history, the language, the manners and customs of the singular people among whom she dwelt, with a rapidity which astonished Mr. Summers, and caused him to remark to his wife that he had been wont to consider the scholastic triumphs of her friend somewhat exaggerated, but was happy now to recant and apologize. Never before had he seen a woman in whom were allied extraordinary mental powers with such unflagging industry, steady application with such brilliant conceptions. Sufficiently rare among men, the combination was almost unknown, in his experience, among women students.

"You have left out her beauty and her simplicity of manner, my dear," said his wife, as she smiled up at her husband's earnest face. "You generally remark these attributes first, you know."

"True—most true," he said, relaxing his countenance. "These I had forgotten. They make the [Pg 304] sum-total of high gifts in her case still more surprising. For the most part beauties are neither clever nor studious. Nor are the studious women beautiful. Nature, in a fit of absence of mind, has split the ingredients while fashioning her favourites, and given Miss Tollemache a double allowance of good looks with all the talents."

"Leaving some poor girl high and dry with neither," said Mrs. Summers. "You do see that occasionally. Watch her there; she does not look like the top mathematician of her year."

Nor did she, perhaps, to a superficial eye, as she sat outside the detached building which served as a kitchen, peeling potatoes, or rather scraping them, native fashion, with a shell; afterwards placing them in a wooden vessel shaped like a canoe for future culinary treatment, the while in animated conversation with Miru, a good-humoured, round-faced native girl, whose peals of laughter were evoked from time to time by her wonderful Maori sentences.

"Yes," said Cyril Summers, "there she sits, suitably dressed, yet looking like a society girl at a South Kensington cookery class, perfectly at her ease with Miru, who worships her, and yet doing the work that is set before her thoroughly and efficiently."

"She takes the deepest interest in our converts, too," said Mrs. Summers. "'One ought to prefer our white heathen, of course,' she said to me the other day, 'but I must confess they seem to me unutterably inferior in manners, dignity, and truthfulness to this race. Their ingrained selfishness and coarseness always revolted me, in spite of my sense of duty. Now, these people have all the simplicity and directness of nature. [Pg 305] Such courage, too! What tales we hear from the front of their contempt of danger! They are, or rather have been, cruel; but so have all nations in the barbaric stage. We don't hear of anything but straightforward fighting now, and that is easy to understand when one looks around on this beautiful country.'"

"Yes, indeed. I suppose it must have come sooner or later. Yet when you contrast the old peaceful mode of living—which I used to admire when we first came here, and were not afraid to visit their kaingas—with the present, one cannot but grieve. It was the most perfect embodiment of the fabled Arcadian life that could be imagined. The palisaded pah, at once a fortress and a town, serving the purpose of the feudal castle of the Middle Ages, to which the inhabitants retreated in time of war; the fields and gardens so neatly cultivated, the groups of women and children, the young men and girls of the tribe, the gossip, the laughter, the games and exercises, of which they had a great variety; then our canoe trips on the broad Waikato, or short boat excursions from the coast settlements;—such pictures of natural rural contentment, as superior to the ordinary life of common Europeans as can be conceived."

"But then their wars—cruel and remorseless. Think of Rauparaha and Hongi! Think of the wholesale massacres, the cannibal feasts, the torturings, the burnings!"

"No doubt. All these things were done in their unregenerate days, but after the advent of that great and good man, Marsden, in 1830, and the establishment of missionary stations, these horrors gradually lessened and were in process of dying out."

[Pg 306]

"How do you think that can be? Were there not still tribal wars and ruthless massacres?"

"A state of conquest, succeeded by retribution, could not be expected to cease suddenly. But you may notice that as the old cannibal chiefs and leaders died out, they in many instances recommended the missionaries to their sons and successors. Then the Christianized chiefs, like Waka Nene and Patuone, never relapsed into heathenism, but fought for us and with us to the end."

"Certainly that showed their power to assimilate civilization, when once introduced."

"Then, again, one remarkable result of the progress of religious teaching was their abolition of slavery. The Maoris were large slaveholders in proportion to their numbers. They made profitable use of captives in agriculture and the laborious work of the tribe. They pleased themselves also by feeling that they had thus degraded their enemies. In the case of chiefs and high-born women it was held to be an unspeakable degradation, personal and political. When one considers the difficulty of inducing civilized nations to forego such privileges, one is lost in amazement that a people but lately redeemed from barbarism should act so humanely at the bidding of a handful of missionaries. It was to forego an ancient institution which contributed so largely to their pride and profit; for slaves were valuable alike in peace and war."

Following up her researches and explorations in Maori lore, Hypatia was daily more excited by the wondrous revelations which the library of fact and fiction furnished. A procession of warriors, orators, poets, priests, and patriots passed before her eager [Pg 307] vision. Conquerors who, like Timour and Zenghis Khan, marched from one extremity of the island world to the other, slaying and enslaving, devouring and torturing, extirpating the weaker tribes—a devastating wave of conquest.

Individuals, again, of such force of character and fixity of resolve that they committed themselves to the hazard of strange vessels, voyaging over unknown seas in order to reach the wondrous isles at the world's end, whence came these strong white strangers, who bore such rich and rare, even terrible commodities, to the children of Maui. Among these strong-souled envoys the historic Hongi, who dissembled successfully, while honoured in the midst of kings and courtiers, until he procured possession of the first firearms, after which he cast away the veneer of civilization, and stood forth a second Attila, the remorseless destroyer of his race. Not less, in peace or war, the warrior and diplomatist, the Napoleon of his time, the terrible Waharoa; risen from a slave's hard fate and toilsome life through the mistaken lenity of his captors, he exhibited his talents by devastating the lands of neighbouring chiefs, and his gratitude by almost obliterating the tribe which had protected him in youth and set him free to commence his march of doom!

Strange to say, those remorseless despots, red with the blood of their countrymen, and unsparing of the lives of women and children, protected the missionaries. Scorning to change their ancient faith, they yet threw no impediment in the way of their successors becoming Christians in name and faith, or loyal allies of the white strangers.

The names of women, too, this earnest student [Pg 308] found profusely associated with heroic deed and resolve, such as have rendered individuals of the sex celebrated, nay, immortal, since the dawn of history. Parallels were there for all the legendary heroines. In the revival of "Hero and Leander," it was the Maori maiden, and not the lover, who dared the peril of the midnight wave, and, more fortunate than he, survived to form a happy union and earn the immortal fame which still illumines the name of Hinemoa—that name still celebrated, even though the fairy terraces of Tarata charm the traveller no more, and the magical fire-bordered lake, even Rotorua, be whelmed in a cataclysm.

Mr. Summers was kept accurately informed by his native converts of the progress of the war. He heard details of the siege of Orakau in which the little household was more than usually interested, from the fact of Henare Taratoa and other converts being in the enemy's ranks.

"Poor Henare!" said Mrs. Summers; "he was our most promising scholar—gentle, brave, chivalrous, the very embodiment of generosity. He no doubt believes that he is fighting for his king and country now that they have set up this fetish of Potatau. It seems very hard, after all the trouble we took with him and the others."

"And why should he not fight?" asked Hypatia, with raised head and flashing eyes. "And—
'How can man die better, When facing fearful odds?'

The position is exactly that of Horatius. History repeats itself. I, for one, do not wonder that any man of his tribe, or woman either, should fight to the [Pg 309] death in this quarrel. The more I learn about the beginning of this lamentable war, the more I feel that the authors of it must be condemned by impartial observers."

"It cannot be logically defended," admitted Mr. Summers; "and, personally, I deplore the inevitable consequences, the temporary ruin of our hopes, the destruction of our schools and churches, the arrest of civilized progress. But some such conflict was unavoidable."

"But why?" asked Hypatia.

"The two races," answered he, "would never have continued to live together in peace. The Maori nature, proud, jealous, revengeful, holding themselves to be the original owners of the country, the English to be strangers and invaders, forbade a lasting peace. They were unwilling to dispose of their lands—these millions of fertile acres of which they made little or no use. The colonizing Briton would never have consented to stand idly by and see this great country, fitted to be the home of millions of Anglo-Saxons or other Europeans, held by a handful of barbarians."

"But how about the Divine command, 'Thou shalt not steal,' 'Do unto others'—ordinances, the keeping of which is enjoined upon individuals, but which are so conveniently ignored by nations?"

"As a minister of the Gospel and a preacher of the Word, I am compelled to admit that our national policy and our national religion are often at variance. Still, it cannot be denied that the advance of civilization has mainly depended upon conquests and the doctrine of force. In our own land the ancient Britons were dispossessed by the Romans and the Iberian [Pg 310] Celts; these, again, by Jutes and Saxons, who in turn were conquered by the Normans. These people found a weaker race, the Morioris, whom they slew and enslaved. They nearly depopulated the South Island, and would have wholly done so but for our arrival. They have always acted upon, and perfectly understand—
'The ancient plan, That they should take who had the power, And he should keep who can.'"

"That is intelligible," said Hypatia, with a sigh; "but I must say I cannot help sympathizing with the Maori Rangatira, in the spirit of the Douglas at Tantallon moralizing over Marmion—
' " 'Tis pity of him, too!" he cried; "Bold can he speak and fairly ride. I warrant him a warrior tried." '

"Do not forget the poor wahines," said Mrs. Summers. "Like all women in these affairs of state, they seem to have the worst of it. Think of them at Orakau, marching out of their blood-stained pah in the midst of a hail of bullets, hungry, thirsty, perhaps wounded, and yet, without doubt, they joined in the defiant shout of 'Akore, akore, akore!'"

"It was glorious," said Hypatia. "I could have wished to have been there. It has immortalized them, as well as the warriors among whom they fought. It will re-echo through the ages long after the pahs are grass-grown, or perhaps made into tea-gardens for the coming race."

"That reminds me that it must be lunch-time," interposed Mrs. Summers, gently; and, with a half-reproachful [Pg 311] gaze, the indignant advocate subsided, and retired to her chamber.

Matters went on calmly and peacefully in this lodge in the wilderness, disturbed but from time to time with war rumours and tidings of siege or skirmish. Occasionally a burst of weeping and dolorous long-drawn lamentation in the Maori camp told that a friend or kinsman had been added to the death-roll. Then a former convert or pupil would stagger in, wounded almost to the death, to be tended, and cured, if such were possible, for no slightly wounded combatant ever taxed the warm welcome of the Mikonaree and his household. They were either sent away rejoicing in their new-found strength and ability to level a musket once more at the marauding pakeha, or, in other case, were laid to rest in the mission graveyard, comforted by the thought that the Burial Service would be read over them by the good pakeha whom they had learned to trust and revere.

Sometimes, when hope had departed, and they began to count their remaining hours, they returned to the lessons which had been with such care instilled into them in the old peaceful days of the earlier missions. They placed their trust in the mediation of Him whom they connected with their conversion, and recalled the weekly services and baptismal vows, happy in the unshaken faith of youth, and passing away to spirit-land without doubt or fear.

At other times, the warrior, roused to frenzy by pain or despair, would solemnly renounce the stranger's God and all His ways, and quit this life, so incomprehensible to him, chanting the ancient war-song of [Pg 312] his ancestors, and electing to follow them to the Maori heaven by the stormy path of the reinga.

A chance newspaper—for, of course, all mail-carrying had been stopped, as well as their irregular intelligence department—brought them the news of the greater and the lesser world from time to time. In one of these latter distributors of hopes and fears they came across these alarming head-lines:—

"The Gate Pah! Captured after a Stubborn Resistance! Panic among the 43rd Regiment! Loss of Officers unprecedented! Names of the Killed and Wounded!"

The list was long, and eagerly scanned. Many were names of European reputation; others, again, of colonial fame, well known to all New Zealand residents. With their heads close together, the names were read out first by one, then another, as different degrees of knowledge or acquaintance prevailed. Mrs. Summers was repeating the last two or three names, when she came to Lieutenant Massinger of the Forest Rangers, "Reported missing!"

"Whom did you say?" cried Hypatia, almost with a shriek. "Not Roland Massinger? Oh, don't say he is dead!"

"He is not dead, my dear," said Mrs. Summers, "only missing. That means, I suppose, that he has not rejoined his regiment. There is nothing so very alarming about that."

"Not alarming—not alarming!" answered Hypatia, in low anguished tones. "Do you know what it means? It may be worse than dead—far worse. He may be in the hands of the enemy—given over to torture. Who can tell? And it is I who am to [Pg 313] blame for his presence in this country, for his taking part in this dreadful war. His blood is upon my head, wretched girl that I am!"

"My dear Hypatia," said Mrs. Summers, gently taking her hand, "why rush to such extreme conclusions? In the first place, the poor fellow is not known to be dead, or even a prisoner. In the next, you cannot be held responsible for the rash resolve of a man whom you felt you could not marry. It is most unfortunate, I grant you, but surely you are not to be held accountable."

"No, no! it was all my doing. My heedlessness and vanity must have encouraged him, or he would never have thought of me in that way. Then a foolish ambition stifled any natural liking. I did like and respect him far more than any other man I had ever met. And now, this is the end of it! He is dead, and I am the unhappy cause. I shall never recover it."

Words were of no avail. In vain Cyril Summers and his wife tried to moderate her passionate remorse. She could see nothing but the darkest fate and endless sorrow before her. She had destroyed his happiness, his career, and now his life had been sacrificed to her insane desire to travel out of the sphere which Providence had assigned to her.

Comparatively soothed by Mr. Summers' promise to send a trusty messenger to procure reliable information as to his disappearance and probable fate, she at length consented to retire with her friend and comforter. To retire, but not to rest. If she slept, troubled visions of pale corpses and blood-stained victims mingled with her dreams, and the dawn had appeared before the slumbers which soothe alike the young [Pg 314] and old, the innocent and the guilty, brought transient rest and peace to her troubled spirit.

Mr. Summers tranquillized her somewhat by sending away a native convert, long associated with the mission, and at her request his wife went also. They were a trustworthy and devoted pair, whose loyalty had been well tried since the outbreak of hostilities. Known by the rebels as Mikonaree natives, they were enabled to pass and repass unharmed. Indeed, they were always welcomed by the insurgents, who never charged them with bad faith. It was rather the other way, inasmuch as the friendly natives were more than suspected of giving information of probable movements by the troops to their countrymen. But, if it were so, their apologists replied that it was, after all, merely in accordance with the ancient Maori custom, which was to send notice to the enemy that they were coming to attack them. The famous Hongi did so in the case of his next-door neighbour, Hinaki, Chief of the Ngatimaru tribe, when they met in Sydney, at Mr. Marsden's dinner-table, after the former's return from England, saying, "Get your tribe ready as soon as you return, for I am going to attack you when I get back to Te Hauraki." He was as bad as his word, and with the aid of civilization (muskets and powder), succeeded in taking the famous Totara pah, slaughtering a thousand Ngatimaru, then killing (and eating) a large proportion of his compatriot's tribe.

Ponui and Awariki did not lose time, but started away in light marching order for the seat of war, secretly pleased and excited by the prospect of hearing all about the bloody engagement and its attendant [Pg 315] horrors, while manifesting a decent show of sorrow for the pakeha's early fate.

They were several days absent, during the lingering hours of which Hypatia held herself to be a prey to the fabled Furies. She was fully impressed with the idea that an evil fate had befallen the missing soldier, on account of which the messengers hesitated to return, awaiting fuller information.

Thus, daily becoming more and more deeply depressed and remorseful, she pondered upon the mysterious workings of Providence, disposed to question its justice in permitting so bitter a blow to be dealt to her—to her, who had always acted in undoubting faith! Upon what trifling events do the great evils and misfortunes of life appear to depend! Like the extra allowance of sunshine in the Alpine world, which sets free the tiny ice stream, which again unlooses the blind and devastating avalanche, what a tragedy had her heedless action set in motion! And the end was not yet. Of what gruesome, bloodcurdling tidings might not the messengers be the bearers!

After a night of miserable imaginings, Hypatia arose to find that the messengers had returned, and furnished a report of their inquiries to Mr. Summers, who, condensing it for her information, hastened to relieve her worst apprehensions.

"Before entering into detail, let me assure you, my dear Miss Tollemache," he said, "that we have good grounds for believing that Sir Roland is alive, and, if not unwounded, most likely in good hands."

"What do they say?" asked she, with tremulous lips. "Were they able to see any one who knew? [Pg 316] His friends—Mr. Slyde, I mean. I have heard they were comrades."

"They joined the Forest Rangers at the same time, I heard; and there was also the half-caste guide, Warwick, a very fine fellow, who has attached himself to our friend. Ponui saw both of them."

"Surely they would know. They did not desert him?"

"There was no hint of desertion. Every officer of note was killed or wounded within the first twenty minutes of the assault of the storming party—they among the number. Warwick was severely wounded. Mr. Slyde was unconscious, and it was thought mortally wounded; but after Warwick had staggered to the place where he had seen Lieutenant Massinger fall, he found that he had disappeared."

"Then they know nothing—absolutely nothing!" said Hypatia. "I thought you said there were grounds for believing——"

"Allow me to continue," said the Reverend Cyril. "Awariki went among the women of the camp, of whom there were many. There she found a cousin who had married a Ngapuhi. She seemed to have been under fire also, as she had a bullet through her upper arm."

"I should like to have been there," said Hypatia, her eyes lighting up with a gathering intensity, as she gazed before her towards the dark-hued mountains which bounded their landscape. "What did she see?"

"As she rushed forward through the mêlée—for her husband was badly wounded—she saw the 'pakeha rangatira,' as she called him, fall, apparently dead. [Pg 317] A Maori was just about to tomahawk him, when Mr. Mannering (Tao-roa, as they call him) dashed him aside, knocking him down, and calling aloud to his people, two of whom lifted up the pakeha, and commenced to carry him to the rear. Immediately afterwards several women joined them, one of whom she was confident was Erena Mannering, his daughter, who, of course, was well known to the tribe. After this ensued the extraordinary panic of the 43rd, and all trace of him was lost."

"Then they did not succeed in getting him back to the Ngapuhi camp (isn't that the name?), and they do not know what has become of him, after all?"

"Merely this, that Awariki says she is certain that if Erena had been taken prisoner, she is a person of such importance that the whole hapu would have been sent in pursuit. She is confident that she and the others are in safety, or else Mr. Mannering would not be at ease and with his people."

"But why did she not ask him?"

"He is a war chief of the Ngapuhi, and she, a common person, did not dare to address him on such a subject. It would not be tika, or etiquette, breaches of which are severely punished."

"But what do you think yourself? All this is very slender evidence—mere hearsay, in fact."

"I fully believe that he is in some secure retreat, watched over by this extraordinary girl, Erena Mannering, whose courage and devotion have, under Providence, saved his life."

"May she find His mercy in her hour of need!" said Hypatia, with clasped hands and streaming eyes. "If it be so, my soul will be freed from a [Pg 318] burden almost too heavy to bear. It may be hoping against hope, but I really begin to believe that his life will be spared. That granted by Heaven, I shall have nothing—positively nothing—to wish for in the future."

The remaining incidents in the capture of the memorable Gate Pah were duly recorded by Awariki for the benefit of the household—how the sailors, the sea-warriors of the pakeha, whose raiment was of a blue colour, they who sprang over the palisades as if they were ships' rigging, and the men in red who fought madly and cursed always, had been bewitched by the spell of the Tohunga of the Ngaiterangi, and had fled. The men in big hats (the Forest Rangers), who walked through the bush, the flax, and the fern by night and day; the Ngapuhi, who rushed on like a breaking wave, were all in vain against the rifle-pits of the Ngaiterangi, whereby men were killed without seeing who fired at them.

Passing from one mood to the other, as is wont with women whose highly strung nervous system seems impatient of continuous action, Hypatia at length made up her mind that Massinger was alive, and safely bestowed in some sylvan retreat, under the care of this mysterious, fascinating Maori girl, of whom she had already heard much.

The natural jealousy, invariably felt by the average woman during the appropriation by another one of an erstwhile, probable, or even possible lover, had no place in Hypatia's generous mind. "If only he is alive and well, I care nothing," thought she. "That she risked her life to save his, I can well believe. [Pg 319] All honour to her. I am at least guiltless of his blood. I shall always feel grateful to her, for lifting that load from my soul."

Thus, when she arose next morning and commenced to busy herself about the indispensable duties of the household, she experienced a feeling of relief to which she had been long a stranger. The day was fine, the clouds of heaven had disappeared, it would seem, simultaneously with those of her spirit. As in the Northern Britain, with its frequent rain and hail, mist and snow, this rare day, on which the disturbing forces of the elements held truce, was inexpressibly lovely. The mountain snow-crown was revealed in all its purity and austere majesty, a silver diadem against the blue and lustrous heavens. The fruit trees in the garden, the oaks and elms, poplars and walnuts, planted in fond remembrance of the dear old home-land, seemed bursting into redundant greenery. The river rippled and murmured under its o'er-arching ferns, and as the little band of dark-skinned children, with their glancing eyes and smiling faces, all obedient and cheerful, passed on to the modest building, wherein they were daily so patiently taught by their pastor and his wife, she could hardly refrain from expressing her thankfulness for the success of this single-hearted enterprise, in which she had been deemed worthy to share.

That the wave of barbaric warfare might at any moment sweep over the peaceful scene, leaving ruin and desolation in its track, seemed, in the glory of that beauteous morn, incredible and preposterous. During later musings, however, when the routine business of the little school failed to absorb her [Pg 320] attention, the thought would obtrude itself of the strange complication of affairs which would arise if, as was rumoured, Roland was about to marry this half-savage girl, as she could not but consider her. Beautiful she was by all report, devoted she must have been to her white lover, educated to a certain extent, and, in virtue of her father's lands granted in earlier times, an heiress of considerable pretensions. But——! She well knew what a death-in-life it would be considered by his English friends. Of course, it was far from improbable. Younger sons and others of aristocratic British families had married these fascinating half-caste girls, even those of pure Maori blood. This she knew from authentic sources. In this distant land, so far from British social edicts, such a marriage was not looked upon as a mésalliance. And if such should be his lot, who would have been the dominant factor in thus shaping his destiny? Who but herself, unwilling, doubtless, but none the less the primary agent in his deportation, his colonial career, with its risks, dangers, and this irrevocable lapse—finally, his absorption in a different class and an alien race? She felt minded to groan aloud. Why should she have been selected to work all this misery and ruin, ending, perhaps, in death? Why could she not foresee the direful consequences flowing from his fatal entrainement?

It was hard, very hard. Other men had paid her court before and since his advent. They had accepted their dismissals calmly, carelessly, irritably, sullenly, according to their several temperaments; in no case had serious results followed. They had mended their damaged or disturbed organs by philosophy, travel ,[Pg 321] gaiety, or marriage, chiefly affecting the latter anodyne. It was surely one of the ironies of Fate that the consequences to this particular pretendu had been so serious—the only one as to whose denial she had felt suspicion of her heart's teaching in the ordeal.

Now, at least, all was over. She had decreed that he should have no further part or lot in her life. If he was safe, Fate might do her worst. She had always claimed the right to mould her own existence. Surely she could do so still. Yet she sighed as she told herself thus proudly that she was sufficient for her own high conception of duty. As to happiness, that was another thing. Who were we, worms of the dust, ephemera of the hour, that we should arrogate to ourselves the right to a condition of perfect satisfaction? Harmony with our surroundings, always improbable, was chiefly impossible. The stars in their courses, as well as all the powers of darkness, were leagued to prevent it. And yet—and yet——Here the introspective reverie ceased, and Hypatia recalled herself to the more urgent and practical demands of daily life.

On the following morning Mr. Summers appeared at breakfast in an unwonted state of excitement, almost of agitation.

"What is the matter, my dear Cyril," inquired the anxious wife. "Is the war news worse than usual?"

"Not quite so bad as that," he said, with a reassuring smile, "but important, notwithstanding. I have just heard that the bishop is coming to pay us a visit, and will stay all night on his way to Tauranga."

"How did you hear? You quite frightened me. [Pg 322] I shall be charmed to have him. Hypatia will be overjoyed, I know. He is one of her heroes."

"A Maori messenger gave me this note," he replied, producing a twisted and discoloured piece of paper, on which was written—

    "My dear Cyril,

    "I propose, with God's blessing, to be with you on Tuesday at midday. If Mrs. Summers can accommodate me, I should like to remain with you for one night. Will hold service in afternoon. Assemble the people—it may be for the last time.

    "G. A. New Zealand."

"And when does he say that we may expect him?" asked Hypatia.

"At or before midday," replied Mr. Summers. "Of course, he will only remain for the night, as he is anxious to push on to Tauranga. But he would like to hold an afternoon service; so I must get in all our people in the neighbourhood, and, of course, the school-children."

"I am charmed with the idea," said Hypatia. "Just fancy! I have had him in my thoughts ever since I thought of coming to New Zealand. One does not often see an apostle in the flesh. And he is one, if ever it is given to man to behold one of God's messengers."

"That I, too, am overjoyed, you will not doubt," said Cyril. "I have a filial feeling towards him. I was one of his curates when he first came to New Zealand. How many a long journey on foot we made together! He is a tireless walker, and a [Pg 323] champion athlete in half a dozen classes. Such a man in a boat, too! He has risked his life scores of times to my knowledge. And now to think that so much of his life's labour has been lost! It is heartbreaking."

"Do not say that, my dear Cyril," came in Mary Summers' quiet voice. "The good seed has been sown. In the time to come it will bring forth, 'some fiftyfold, some an hundredfold,' as we are told in God's Word. Look what poor Henare Taratoa did, even when fighting against us in the Gate Pah! That was the fruit of our teaching here, I am thankful to say."

"What was that?" said Hypatia.

"One of the Maori women that came away from the Gate Pah said that when Colonel Booth was lying mortally wounded and perishing with thirst—for there was no water in the pah for the last two days—Henare stole out by night and passed through our lines, thereby risking his life, and brought back a calabash of water, which he placed by the side of the dying man. It was found there next morning by our men after the natives had left the pah."

"What a splendid fellow!" said Hypatia. "He fought for his country, as why should he not? But then, having received the Christian faith, he followed implicitly the precepts he had learned. Our men would have given water to wounded Maoris, but which of them would have risked his life to procure it?"

"I could tell you of other instances of similar conduct," said Mr. Summers. "The bishop, when he comes, will, I am sure, add to my list. But we must [Pg 324] set to work now to ensure him a suitable reception. You will have a sermon, too, which, like all his addresses, will be deeply impressive."

All requisite preparations having been made, and a sort of "fiery cross" sent round in the hands of a fleet-limbed native youngster, a considerable gathering of Maoris of all ages and conditions was present at the appointed time. They came in honour of that heroic personage, George Augustus Selwyn, the famous Bishop of New Zealand, the hero of a hundred legends, the pioneer missionary, the modern embodiment of faith, zeal, and devotion, who had always been willing—nay, passionately eager—in the words of St. Paul, "to spend and be spent" in the service of his Master.

Hypatia stood back a little space while Mr. Summers and his wife warmly welcomed their pastor and master, with an earnestness there was no mistaking. The dark-skinned contingent then closed in, and obstructed her view of the man whom (with one exception), of all living personages, she was the most anxious to see, whom by reputation she honoured with a feeling akin to adoration.

He had come attended only by a middle-aged Maori, whose grizzled countenance and war-worn features showed that he had done his share in the professional occupation of the Maori gentilhomme of the period. He stood apart, leaning on his musket, but from the respect with which he was treated by all who approached, it was evident that he was a personage of no ordinary consideration.

It was a scene of more than ordinary interest. The older members of the hapu who still dwelt in [Pg 325] the vicinity of the mission, were chiefly those who from age or infirmity were debarred from going to the war, then waged within so short a distance of their homes. A large proportion was composed of women, children, and young people not yet entitled to rank as combatants. All in turn came to be presented to the Pihopa Rangatira, making obeisance due and lowly. To each one he addressed a few words in Maori, the replies to which were made with evident pleasure, the children almost gasping with pride and gratification at the honour of the interview. Inquiries were made after well-known men, who had formerly been regular attendants at the little church, but too often resulted in downcast looks, as the sad word maté (dead) came forth, and in broken accents the name of the battle, skirmish, or locality was uttered. Well posted in the personal history of the missionary centres and their converts, the bishop never failed to bestow a word of sympathy or condolence upon the mourners.

The reception being ended, Mr. Summers announced that the assembly was free to betake itself to their kai (or meal), which had been prepared, taxing to the utmost the resources of the establishment.

"Permit me, my lord, to present to you Miss Tollemache, a friend and schoolfellow of my wife," said Mr. Summers, as they moved towards the cottage. "A young lady lately from England, who has cast in her lot with us."

The bishop looked with extreme surprise at the distinguished-looking girl, so unlike what he naturally expected to see at the place and time. Bowing, however, with easy grace, he said—

[Pg 326]

"I am afraid I cannot congratulate you upon the occasion you have selected in which to commence your labours in the Master's vineyard. Have you had previous experience, may I ask?"

"I have had two years' work in and around Whitechapel," said she. "I took up the East End City Mission work soon after I finished my college course."

"Then you have quitted your first sphere of usefulness, may I say, for a wider field?"

"I discovered," said Hypatia, "that the locality was not suited to my age and disposition. I retired in favour of more experienced workers. Gathering from the letters of my dear friend and schoolfellow, Mrs. Summers, that she needed help, I decided to come here."

"And you did well, my dear young lady, to follow the dictates of your heart, though I would it had happened a few years previously, when we were all rejoicing in the fruition of our hopes and the visible reward of years of toil and privation. Now, alas! there have been sad backslidings, griefs, and discouragements. I have been sorely tempted to despair; but He who has hitherto led us through the wilderness will not abandon us now. May His blessing be upon you, my dear child, and upon all in this household. Though terrors encompass us, we know in whom to trust, as our Defender and Guide."

As he spoke, standing within sight of the mountain and the wave, with head raised, and that noble countenance illumined with the courage that is not of this earth—the fervent faith in things not seen—he appeared to Hypatia as a prophet inspired, [Pg 327] transfigured, worthy to bear His sacred message, to speak the words of the Most High. Her overwrought emotional feelings overpowered her. Yielding to an irresistible impulse, she cast herself on her knees before him and cried aloud—

"Bless me, O my father, even me!"

Strongly stirred, the good bishop laid his hands solemnly upon her head, saying—

"May the Lord God, Most High, Most Mighty, bless, protect, and save thee, dear child, from all evils of body and mind, also from all the sorrows and terrors of this distracted land. May He shield thee in the hour of need, and may His guidance be with thee until thou art led in safety to thy home and thy friends. For Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."

Hypatia retired to the little room which she had occupied since her sojourn in Oropi, feeling a renewed confidence in the vocation which she had adopted, and a fervent resolve to persevere in the path marked out for her, no matter what obstacles might present themselves.

When she appeared at the simple midday meal, all traces of emotion and excitement had vanished. The little household talked freely of the conclusion of the war as being at hand, and, that once an established fact, the recovery of the country and the revival of the Church were but matters of time.

"And do you think that the two races will ever agree to live in peace and amity, after all the blood that has been shed?" asked Hypatia, leaning forward with a rapt and eager look upon her face which reminded the bishop of the early Christian martyrs.

"One may well doubt, Miss Tollemache," said he, [Pg 328] with a sad yet unshaken air of confidence. "The best blood of England has been shed like water in these sieges and engagements. Still, I foresee the termination. It cannot be distant now. The flower of the Maori warriors and their leading chiefs lie low. All history teaches us that a conquered people is always absorbed into the superior race in course of time."

"But the difference in origin and tradition?" queried Mr. Summers.

"Is by no means an insuperable obstacle," answered the bishop. "In those mixed unions which have already taken place, no degeneration of type is apparent; indeed, to speak frankly, it has even appeared to me that the offspring in many instances show an advance, physically and mentally, upon both the parent stocks. I could name instances, but it is perhaps unnecessary."

"We have our Joan of Arc, too," interposed Mrs. Summers; "only, unfortunately for the romance, she is fighting or nursing, whichever it may be, on the invaders' side."

"You mean Erena Mannering," said the bishop. "I know her well—or did, rather, in the dear old past days. She is truly a noble damsel in every sense of the word. Her Herculean father is a paladin for valour, struggling with the tastes of a savant and philosopher. In a different age he would have stood at a monarch's right hand, or more probably have been a conqueror in his own person. Her mother was a chieftainess, brave, beautiful, and of long descent. No wonder that she is a marvel of womanhood!"

[Pg 329]

"She is not without friends who appreciate her," said Hypatia, smiling at the enthusiasm of the sympathetic prelate. "Fortunate girl! to be born to a heroine's task, a heroine's applause. This is the last home of romance, it would appear, since it has quitted Britain, at any rate for the present."

"Have you heard the last rumour about her, my lord?" said Mr. Summers.

"No, indeed. Koihua and I came across the bush after leaving the Forest Rangers before Orakau. I trust no harm to her is feared."

"No, but the situation is not wholly free from risk. A young lieutenant of the Forest Rangers, wounded in the storming party, which was repulsed at the Gate Pah, is reported missing. It is said that she was seen with a small party of natives, who carried him off at the bidding of her father, and that neither she nor he have been since heard of."

"In that case it is most probable that she saved his life, and, in the absence of definite information, I should be inclined to believe that he has been taken to a place of safety, where he will remain for the present. What did you say his name was?"

"Roland Massinger."

"Not De Massinger of the Court, in Herefordshire—surely not?" said the bishop, more keenly interested. "I saw him in camp when I came from Pukerimu, poor boy! I knew his people well in England—among the very oldest families in the land. I met him soon after his arrival in Auckland. Whatever hard fate brought him into this disastrous strife? But I should not say fate; rather the will of God, which often from present chastening leads to our [Pg 330] eventual gain. But the time draws near for our service—the last, most probably, that I shall hold here. It will be my farewell to these poor people, whom I have loved and prayed for so often."

And as the good man retired to his chamber for the preparation of prayer which he always held to be necessary, even in the most thinly populated and apparently humble localities, Hypatia took the opportunity of escaping from a conversation which threatened embarrassing conditions.

Punctually at the appointed hour, the bell of the little church having sounded for the canonical time, the man of God walked through the crowd of dark-skinned proselytes, who awaited his arrival with unaffected reverence; and murmurs of approbation were heard as he paced with solemn steps towards the humble building, for which many of those present had contributed labour or materials. Yet were not all fully agreed. Some of the older men had been acted upon by the disaffected of the tribe, and hardly concealed their distrust of the pihopa, who went between the contending forces, and might, perhaps, convey information to their foes. This allegation, openly made at the rebel camp, caused the good bishop the most poignant grief—to think that his people, his children in the Lord, as he fondly called them, should distrust him, who for them, for their present advantage and eternal weal, had sacrificed the intellectual luxuries of the parent land, his place among the noble and the great, all the unspeakable social advantages which await the distinguished son of literature and the Church in Britain! And for what? To live in self-imposed exile in a distant [Pg 331] colony, among a barbarous people but recently redeemed from the grossest heathen practices! It was more than discouraging, it was heartbreaking, to one of his sensitive temperament and fervent spirit.

The service of the Church of England was read by Mr. Summers. Hypatia was touched by the manner in which the responses were made by young and old. Nowhere in the world could more earnestness have been shown, less apparent wavering from the appointed ritual, which was wholly in the Maori tongue. She had made sufficient progress in the language to follow easily—a task lightened by the preponderance of vowels and the disuse of the perplexing consonants so frequent in European tongues. A greater advance can be made in Maori in a shorter time than in almost any living language. There is much of the ore rotundo claimed for the noble fundamental languages, which now only survive among degenerate descendants of the orators, warriors, statesmen, and artists, who, while they rolled out the sonorous sentences, swayed the known world with their pre-eminence in arts and arms, speech and song.

The prayers of the Anglican Church were concluded. Then the great apostle of the South Seas ascended an ornate pulpit, the gift of a few English friends of Mr. Summers, the carving of which had much impressed the native congregation, themselves by no means without practice in this ancient section of art. In his sermon—short, fervent, and chiefly persuasive—he appealed to those better feelings which the teaching of the missionary clergy, of whatever [Pg 332] denomination, had been chiefly desirous of fostering. "What," he asked, "had been the condition of the tribes before that great and good man Marsden, the pioneer pastor, came among them? War unbridled, ruthless, remorseless, with its accompaniments still more dreadful—slavery, torture, child-murder, the eating of human flesh, practices which, to their honour be it spoken, the Maoris as a nation had discontinued. Were they not ashamed of these things?" ("Yes, yes!" from the assembled crowd.) "Who had taught them to be ashamed of these things? The missionary clergy, the pakeha from beyond the seas. Who had given them the seed, the grain, the potato, the domestic animals, the tools of iron, from which they now reaped such abundant harvests and stores of produce? Bread, flour-mills, garden-seeds and vegetables,—all these came from the pakeha. Who taught them the use of all these things? The Mikonaree. He laboured with his hands, he lived poorly, he coveted nothing for himself, he only held a small portion of their waste lands on which to grow food for himself and his family.

"He had done all this. But he had done more. He had taught them to worship the only true God, and His Son Jesus Christ our Lord—the God of mercy, of truth, of charity, of peace. And had they not lived in peace, in plenty, in good will among themselves, until this war arose, which was now raging to the destruction of Maori and pakeha alike? Who counselled this shedding of blood, this burning of pahs? The clergy? No. They knew that the voice of every clergyman, every missionary in both [Pg 333] islands, had been against it, was against it now. If his advice had been taken, a runanga would have been held, of the wisest pakehas and the high rangatiras. Judges like Mannering and Waterton would have sat there—men who knew the Maori tongue and the Maori customs. They would have done justice. The Waitara would never have been bought from Teira. The Maori law would have been respected, as well as the English law, in which every man has equal rights, the native as well as the pakeha. Then there would have been no war; no killing of pakeha settlers who wished to cultivate the soil and to live in peace; no death of the soldiers and sailors; no death of the volunteers who wished to buy and sell in the towns, who bought the natives' pigs and potatoes, their wheat and their flax; no death of high chiefs or of the young men of the tribes, of officers of the troops, of officers of the ships. All these of the young and the old who now lie cold in the earth or beneath the sky would be alive and well this day." Here more than one face betrayed deep feeling; falling tears and gestures of unutterable anguish told their tale.

"But the war, unhappily, had commenced, and still raged. Unwise white men, proud and haughty chiefs, had been impatient, and forced on the war. Had the Maoris respected the lessons they had been taught, and been patient, even when suffering injustice, all would have been well. The Waitara block would have been given up. It has been given up now. They had many friends in the pakeha runanga; even in Sydney the Kawana Dennitoni had sent a letter in their favour, warning the council of the [Pg 334] pakehas not to take Waitara. But there were unwise men on both sides. Blood was shed. And the state of war took place. And now you will say, 'This is all very well, but we knew much of this before. The state of war is accomplished. What are we to do? What is best for the Maori people?'

"I will tell you. This is my saying. I have prayed to God that it may be right and wise, according to His will, and for your benefit, who are my children in the Lord. We have always taught you to desire peace—peace and good will towards all men. Cherish no more hard feelings against the pakeha. You will have to live in the land with him. His race is the stronger, the more numerous; he has ships, soldiers, and guns, more than you can number; they are like the sands of the seashore.

"The war must soon be over. I, who speak to you now, say so. Heed not those foolish men of your race who tell you to go on fighting. It is of no use. When the last battle is fought, and my words come true, yield yourself to the Kawana, Hori Grey, saying, 'We are conquered. Show us mercy. We desire peace for the future.' He has always been a friend of the Maori people. He is a friend now. You will find that you will receive mercy, that a portion of your lands will be restored to you. Not all. Part will be taken for utu, as by Maori custom. After that I say, heed my words and those of the good Mikonaree who have always tried to do you good—who will do you more good in the future. 'Love your enemies; do good to those who despitefully use you. If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink,' as did Henare Taratoa, whom I taught when he was [Pg 335] young. You can read your Bible, many of you. Do what you are there commanded, and it will be well with you.

"And now it may be that you will see my face no more. I have been called back to the land whence I came, so many years ago, to do you good, to help, to teach every man, woman, and child in this land of Maui; such I may have done, though the seed of the Word has sometimes perished by the wayside. But other seed, I will believe, has taken root, and will bring forth, in due time, some twenty, some fifty, some an hundred fold.

"And when the day comes, as come it will, when peace overspreads the land, when the churches are again crowded, when the schools are full of your children, when the harvests are bounteous, and the Maori people are as well clothed, as well fed, and as well taught as the pakehas, you will hear that your pihopa, the man who loved you and prayed with you, is no more. In that hour remember that I told you all this would come to pass, and honour his mana by obeying the words of his mouth, and the commandment of the most high God."

As the sermon neared this conclusion, the hearts of the people were more deeply and strongly affected. Tears streamed down the faces of the younger members of the congregation. Sobs and groans were frequent. And as he turned to leave the little chapel, a simultaneous rush was made to the door, so as to be enabled to say a last farewell. All doubt and hesitation as to his actions since the war were swept away by the magic of his vibrating voice, the magnetic force of his earnest tones. They now commenced to realize that [Pg 336] they were losing a friend in need, a judge in Israel, a champion in the day of their oppression.

As he left the church with his host and hostess, the women and children clustered around him, with cries of grief and genuine sorrow. They knelt before him, they struggled for the right to kiss his hand, they implored him to come again; they vowed that they would always be his children, and would obey his commands till their death.

It was to Hypatia a scene indescribably affecting. The tears came to her own eyes as she stood there, sympathetic, emotional, wondering no more at the contagious power of the united forces of faith, enthusiasm, and oratory combined to sway a multitude and lead a people to heroic deeds. The men stood aloof while the women were making their moan, and then came forward respectfully, each to receive a handshake and a word of greeting, advice, or friendly warning. Last of all, the few elders who had attended as it were under protest, made known their recantation of doubt or distrust. An aged chief, whose scarred countenance and limbs told a tale of ancient wars, hobbled forward, leaning upon his hano. With an air of mingled dignity and despondency he thus delivered himself—

"This is my saying, the saying of Tupa-roa the aged. I have listened to the words of the pihopa rangatira; they are good words. The great Atua of the pakehas has spoken in them. If we had hearkened to them before, if we had said at Waitara, 'This thing is unjust, but we will not fight; we will leave it to a Court; we will send a letter to the Kawini across the sea; we will ask for justice till the [Pg 337] winds cease to blow, till the fire-mountain in White Island stops breathing flame;' then our wisdom would have been great. What the pakeha says is true. We had many friends, just men, in the pakeha runanga. After all, Waitara was given back. Why? Were the pakehas afraid? No! See what has come of it. My son is dead, and his"—pointing to another elder who stood near him—"and Takerei and Puoho, all dead—all gone past the reinga, where I also shall soon follow. But we were as children, who see not into the future. Those unwise ones, who should be silent in council, were allowed to lead the nation; and now we are a broken people, our pahs are burned with fire. Our lands are taken, our sons are dead, also our high chiefs. If we had listened to the pihopa, to the Mikonaree, to Kawana, Hori Grey, these things would not have come to pass. My saying to you, O people, is to show honour to the pihopa and his mana, and so will it be well with you, with all of us, and our children's children."

Here he advanced, and motioning to one of the seniors who carried his greenstone mere, an emblem always of honour and authority, he made a gesture of humility and handed it to the bishop, who, receiving it, shook hands warmly with the old warrior and his aged companions. At this moment Mr. Summers gave out the Hundredth Psalm, which the whole congregation took up and sang with wonderful fervour and correctness, many of the voices being rich and expressive. At the close, the bishop, raising his hand, solemnly pronounced the benediction, and the congregation slowly departed.

[Pg 338]

"What a wonderful scene!" said Hypatia to Mrs. Summers, as she and the two children walked slowly after the bishop and her husband. "I feel certain that they will not believe it in England, when I write and tell them what interest these people showed in the service. There was none of the yawning or irreverence that one often sees in a village church there. How they hung upon the bishop's words! I could understand a good deal, but not all. It is a fine language, too, and by no means difficult to learn."

"Didn't old Tupa-roa talk well, mother?" said the eldest girl, a fair-haired Saxon-looking child, the rose bloom of whose cheeks did justice to the temperate climate. "He looked very fierce, too, when he spoke about the war, his sons, and the chiefs, all maté, maté, maté."

"I thought it inexpressibly mournful," said Hypatia. "The aged veteran, a war-chief, I suppose, in his time, grieving over his broken tribe and ruined land. Owning, too, that if wise councils had prevailed all might have been avoided."

"He was a great chief once," said the little girl. "Old Tapaia told me that he used to kill people, and eat them too. Wasn't that horrid? But he has been good for a long time, hasn't he?"

"You mustn't believe all that Tapaia tells you," said Mrs. Summers; "and you know I don't like you to talk to the old women, only to Hiraka, who is sure to tell you nothing foolish. You monkeys can chatter Maori as well as any child in the kainga. I think I must forbid you going there at all."

"Oh, mother, I will be good, and never talk to [Pg 339] the old women, if you will let me go sometimes. The children are so funny, and they play such nice games. One is just like our cat's cradle."

"You can go, my dear child, when I am with you, or Miss Tollemache, but not by yourself. And now it must be nearly tea-time, so let us get home. The bishop will leave us at sunrise, I know."

That evening, with its homely meal, was long remembered by Hypatia. The quiet converse continued far into the night with Mr. and Mrs. Summers. Even, moreover, a short private conversation which the good bishop found time to arrange with her sank deeply into her heart.

Having questioned her kindly but closely as to her motives for leaving her friends, and taking up the hard, unlovely, possibly dangerous, vocation she had adopted, he warned her against mistaking a transient preference—the novelty of a mission to the heathen—for the Divine summons.

"I do you full justice, my dear child," said he; "you are devoting yourself to the noblest earthly duty, but I feel it right to warn you that, though the war must be nearing its close, there may be even greater dangers in store for isolated households such as this. Even after the collapse of the hostile tribes, there may be desperate bands roaming the country, seeking by plunder and outrage to avenge the downfall of their race. I have warned Cyril, and have counselled him, on the first rumour of such horrors, to remove his household to Auckland, and, even as I would do in the case of my own daughter, I have urged him to send you to the protection of any friends you may have in New Zealand 'until this tyranny be [Pg 340] overpast.' Weigh my words well, and may God give you power to choose aright."

"I cannot fully express my deep gratitude, my lord, for the honour you have done me, and the interest you have taken in my welfare. That I did not devote myself to mission work without earnest and prayerful thought, your lordship may rest assured. I counted the cost beforehand, and now I cannot dream of deserting my colours, so to speak. You will not think that I am quite destitute of prudence. I shall accept the decision of my dear friend and her husband. If they think it imperative to retreat in the face of too evident danger, I shall accompany them. But as long as they remain, whatever may be the disquieting rumours, I shall be found at their side. 'Ake, ake, ake,' as the men at Orakau said. We must not let the Maoris have all the glory on their side."

The bishop smiled as she used the historical words of the unconquered garrison, but could not forbear gazing with admiration at the high-souled maiden, as she stood with upraised head and flashing eyes before him; a marvel of classic beauty, embodying all the nobility of form and feature which painters and sculptors have from the earliest ages loved to depict—an emblem of matchless womanhood devoted to a lofty ideal.

"We are all in God's hands," he said softly. "Let Him do what seemeth to Him good. May He bless and protect you, my child, and all who are of this household to-night."

Stars were contending with the rain-clouds of a stormy dawn as Hypatia drew back the curtain from [Pg 341] the window of her bedroom and looked out. She saw the bishop come forth from the guest-room at the end of the verandah, wrapped in his cloak. He handed his valise to the Maori attendant, Koihua, who stood motionless at the foot of an English elm tree, and with staff in hand set forth on the Tauranga road with the free step and elastic stride of a trained pedestrian. Once, and once only, at the first turn in the winding path did he look back for an instant, and, noting Hypatia's face at the window, waved his hat in token of farewell, and disappeared in the woodland. There were tears in Hypatia's eyes, springing from a sentiment she could hardly analyze, as she turned from the casement.