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Ranolf and Amohia

V

V.

So in the glen three days had well-nigh passed;
The pelting rain seemed holding up at last.
Ranolf and Amo in their bark-built tent
Were busy; she, in sylvan arts adept,
With scraps of fern dry brown from where they slept,
And moss from underneath thick boughs, in spite
Of damp, preparing her quick fire to light;
But with grave brow half-puzzled how to glean
A savory meal from viands well-nigh spent:
And he, in prospect of the brightening weather,
Intent, but leisurely, with loitering mien,
On ferreting with purple-glossed green feather—
The wild-duck's, moistened with its searching oil—
Into the fastenings of his rifle's lock,
The shining intricacies rust would spoil;
Still pausing in his task, with banter fond
Her over-anxious care for him to mock,
To which, no whit disturbed, she would respond
Her fixed conviction what to him was due;
Or, if a longer silence intervened
Wondering what strange wild tameness towards him drew
The large red-breasted robin—kinsman true
page 240 Of England's delicate highbred bird of home,—
So fine-limbed, full of spirit!—how?twould come
After a little startled flight or two
And perch upon the very gun he cleaned—?
Twas then, Te Manu—who, sent off to scout,
A cloak of perfect thatch about him thrown,
Had fetched a wary compass wide about
To a far village off their route—prepared
With preconcerted tale—was seen alone
Returning from the journey safely dared,
O'er the dim plain—a shadow: till as near
He drew, the triumph on his face was clear:
Laden he came—though nought for loads he cared
When self-imposed by fancy for good cheer—
Cray-fish—plump pigeons in their fat preserved,
Neat-packed in pottles of dark wood, adorned
With carvings arabesque so quaintly curved—
Store of that tiny fish like whitebait, dried
In sunshine on hot stones—with scraps beside
Of native dainties nowise to be scorned;—
And when his shoulders from the pack were freed,
With joyous face he told them news indeed:
How he had met a traveller newly come
From Rotorua, and from him had learnt the sum
Of all that there had happened; how at first
When missing Amohia's clothes were found
Upon the shore, all had believed her drowned:
Then what a wailing had ensued—a burst
Of genuine grief—no counterfeiting show—
What gashing of the breast with shells,
and flow Of blood had marked the matrons' gory woe;
How Tangimoana, had torn his hair
And curst his gods in frenzy of despair,
page 241 And raved against the Priest whose scheming greed
His own too ready confidence had wronged,
And driven his darling to the desperate deed—
(From Miroa was that certain fact derived);
Then what a coolness rose between the two:
And how when Ranolf's absence so prolonged.
Begun that very day, had roused more true
Suspicions, fresh inquiry set on foot
Led to the knowledge that the pair had been
By accident upon their journey seen:
And then the Priest so hotly urged pursuit
His obvious spite provoked a new dispute;
For Tangi's heart such great revulsion swelled
Of rapture that his dearest Child survived,
It found no room for thoughts of hate and rage,
And all the vengeful Priest's advice repelled
Almost with scorn; whereat the other turned
Livid with sulky wrath that inly burned,
And no amends of Tangi's could assuage;
At which all wondered; (here in Amo's breast
An undivulged remembrance more than guessed
The jealous fury that his heart possessed:)
And how the Priest soon from the Island went,
None knew when, whither, or with what intent—
Went mutely maddening with his fancied wrong
Though muttering vengeance and return erelong;
At which in hardy confidence so strong Stout
Tangi only laughed; and longed to see
His hoary age's pride again, and press
Her brow against his own in fond caress;
Yearned for her home—companioned should she be
By husband, fair or tawny—what cared he!—