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Chapter XIV.

Back in New Zealand again! A great, bluff, precipitous promontory jutting boldly out into the vast Southern Ocean! Large boulders at its base, which have fallen in times gone by from its front and sides. The sea agitated by a late gale rolling grandly in, wave succeeding wave. Here comes an enormous breaker! he rolls proudly on till he nears the base of the cliff, then with a roar his mighty white crest tumbles over, and he rushes amongst the huge stones, dashing up his spray half-way up the precipice. Then the giant waters recede page 176again, rolling over in their rapid retreat stones, pieces of wood, seaweed, and all kinds of débris. Then another wave succeeds, and so on. "Ai aké, aké ah ?." (Yes, for ever and ever.)

Further on, the cliff trends back in the shape of a half-moon, and at its base there is a strip of bright yellow sand. Here in the sheltered bay the waters are more gentle, they roll in in long swells, lap—lapping on the shingly beach, and then as placidly retreating again. Over head hover snow-white gulls, and just at the edge of the water, patter numerous jet black birds, with long red legs, about the size of wild-ducks.

Further still came a party of Maories. They have seen from the high ground a whale close in shore beyond the promontory, and are in hopes that he may become embayed, and fall into their hands page 177an easy prey. They say "Tena qui?" koe (How do you do? literally, I see you! there you are!) to two figures who are slowly pacing up and down the beach. Yet further still are a party of Maori children playing at fighting; one party has built a pah on the sands and is defending it, the defenders themselves almost entirely concealed, and only just showing little sticks, which represent guns, over its parapet; the other party having dug rifle-pits are also pretending to fire at their enemies. Suddenly with a loud shout the defenders of the pah rush out, they fall upon the foe in the rifle-pits, these fly in the most admired disorder up a neighbouring bank, where they conceal themselves amongst the fern, anon they recover courage and retake the rifle-pits and their enemies retire to their pah, and so they go on. Thus it is that the Maori from his earliest youth begins to learn the art of war.

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The day is lovely, the sky is cloudless, the bright sun glistens on the water and on the yellow sand of the beach. The gentle murmur of the sea in the bay and the distant booming of the surf on the point soothe the ear. All is calm. There are some such moments in life!—they seem designed as resting-places between the storms of existence.

Who were the two figures to whom the Maories said "Tena qui" koe (I see you)? They were Henry Ancrum and Celia, now man and wife; yes, they were married, not merely by the rather original ceremony of reading the Marriage Service together, which Celia insisted on performing shortly after we last heard of them, but also by an ordained Maori clergyman, who had been induced to travel some distance to perform the ceremony. They were married, and Celia was happy; she had obtained the ob-page 179ject of all her wishes, she had obtained the man she loved, and she had found him as gentle, kind, and affectionate a husband as any woman could desire. Henry's feelings were more difficult to define, they were of a more mixed nature.

Celia had saved his life; Celia loved him with a devotion with which few men are loved. When she threw her arms round his neck, when she put up her beautiful face to his and kissed him, could he help loving her? Could any man under similar circumstances have helped loving such a woman?

Then, again, it appeared to Henry as if it were all predestined—as if it had been all his fate since the moment when he was taken prisoner. Had he not been always thrown into Celia's society? Had not the idea of the Maories that he might escape prevented his going to a distance page 180from the camp and thereby left him always with her? On the eventful night when she saved his life, had he not by considerations for her safety as well as his own been forced to stay in her whari? After this, had he not felt it a duty to marry her? Now that he was married to her, was it not his duty to try and forget his former love? Yes, he did try; but still in his secret soul the thoughts of Edith Mandeville would arise. He checked them as much as he could, but still they would come back; they were never entirely banished.

To all outward appearance Henry Ancrum was now a complete Maori: constant exposure to the sun had darkened his countenance till it was nearly as brown as those around him; his clothes had long been worn out, and he was obliged to dress like the rest. He and Celia cultivated their potatoes and yams, they reared their page 181fowls and pigs, they went out fishing, and they often dined off "pee-pees" pipi and other shell-fish, or off the produce of their garden.

Henry and Celia left the beach and walked slowly towards their cottage, or rather wharie, which was just a little retired from the edge of the cliff above, which at this part sloped away towards the sea and was ascended by a zigzag path.

"Henry," said Celia, "I have been so happy for some time past. I feel as if it were more than I could expect; as if it could not last. I do not know how it is, but I feel so sad to-night."

"Pooh!" said Henry, "come into the garden. I want to show you that pumpkin; he is a most prodigious fellow—as big as a baby."

Celia sighed. Is our happiness ever complete in this world? Can you, gentle reader, page 182understand the absurdity of the thing? She sighed because she had not got a troublesome, squalling, slobbering baby. And so they went and looked at the prodigious pumpkin.