Chapter XI.

Otago Witness, Issue 2325, 22 September 1898, Page 49

Chapter XI.

,\ . The Wedding Day of Grace. Very early in. the -morning, before it was broad day,- ,'Aroha was down at the, whare. Whe took fruit- and bread from the cupboard, and put them into a kit, one which she, had lieuelf made, and which the girls had used, to carry their food on many an excursion. It was too dark to see her face, but her movements were abrupt. She took long pauses between each act ; she was not swift of foot as when on the service of the' wtfhine or the priest of the pakehas. "Let them go," she muttered; "I will staj here."' fc>he bowed her tall head and passed through the carved door of the whare, from the portals of which the large eyes of her sightless gods stared blankly out to sea. In the white light of the dawn the Maori girl unmoored her boat, and, throwing in the kit, stepped in after it, and with a few strokes of the oars le?t the shore. For the space of 10 minutes she applied her self to rowing, bending her body to the oars, the rythmic splash of which as they smote the water alone broke the stillness, except for that indescribable st.x:nd of lazy waves falling against the rocks atrl shore. Aroha ceased rowing, and, leaning on the dr.ppinc oars, her face to the east, looked where the sun rose above a bank of amber cloud. For a moment the bay was alive with rays of gold, green, heliotrope, and blue.- then, while the girl shaded her eyes with her hand to shut off the dazzling light, the sun went under the cloud again, and the mcrning was sad once more. Aroha's dark straight brows were drawn together as one in pain. Her lips were tightly pressed ; her dark eyes wandered over the tops of the hills where the mists yefc cling. She knew the secrets of every peak anl of every shaded valley. Her breast heaved beneath her scarlet bodice. She drew long deep breaths of the salt air. "I will not go," she said again. "It is * pleasant land and fair, this land of my fathers. Let the pakehas leave it if they will I want no rich and splendid future. I want no cities where the towers reach up to thi pakehas' God. I "will remain where" the flax. and the totara are planted. I, Aroha, daughter of the chiefs, will return to .my people, • where the blue lakes shine as a minor, and the great geysers throw up their boiling steam to the sky, and the mountains burn, and where the weka (woodhen) and the kaka call from the forest at night. Let the wahine and the toliunga go, and the medicine man. I will not go to a strange land wLere the pakehas will scorn me. I will not bo v r my head to the strange pakehas. lam rargatira." She sat motionless, the boat oscillating with- the waves, her eyes wandering once more all round the beloved scenes. Her ancestors had buried their hatchets ; but the blood of a people who had fought for their country ran in her veins, and a fierce rebel- | lion rose in the heart of their child at the thought of relinquishment. The past had been boundless felicity. With" the warm gratitude of her race her heart had surrendered to her white friends all its affection — an affection kept warm by her belief that they had need of her. It was hateful and miserable for her to know that they needed her no longer. No longer might she fisli, .and afterwards bake the fish for the pakeha priest, or watch his footsteps as he stumbled in the dark. He was rich. His | money would procure all service, and wahine would be with him always. With a moan she bent again to the oars. She became conscious of the swell of the waves. Scanning the sea and the sky with experienced eyes : " There has been a storm far out in the night," she said. She bent again to the oars, steering for a small headland, which having' reached she alighted, and making fast her boat paddled bare-legged to some rocks, from" which, with a blunted chisel i brought from the boat, she detached some oysters" and ate. Her head was uncovered, and her long hair hung loosely over her shoulders, but the, morning was still sunless, though the air grew more stifling. Aroha left the shore and went in search' of ! water, climbing through the thick bracken almost to the summit of the hill. She found a spring, and, having drank of its clear waters eagerly, threw herself down under the | totara trees and looked over the water she had come. Akaroa nestled among the trees. She could distinguish some of the streets, and pick out the spot where the doctor's house stood, and the cove where the whare was, and above and beside it the jutting rocks reached by the cliff path, from which she and Grace had so often at high tide sprung into the sea to bathe. She saw also the lower or beach road leading from the town to the whare, along which they had walked when the pakeba Mark had said good-bye. Her lip curled with scorn : the men of her race did not part so easily from their wahines. At that bour she 'despised the civilisation that made restraint a good. She impatiently directed her gaze to the plain little house where the priest pakeha dwelt, and which had been her home for so many years. She covered her eyes with her hands, and with a cry of lamentation fell on her face. In that home now cases were packed and corded awaiting removal, and also in the wahin'e's home. The sorrow of death would be in the hour of parting. Yet she would not" go with them ; she would tell them so to-night when she went home. * I For a long time she lay motionless, afraid to look up lest her eyes fell again on the scenes of old delight. The thin crust of civilisation was not deep enough. wholly to out the primitive impulses of mankind

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It takes more than one generation of selfsuppression to give the faith that in renunciation lies possession. Unless some one experience gathered into itself the power of many incarnations the Maori girl would find it easier to rebel than to submit, for in an hour or so those two who had made her gift of service her life's dignity would serve each other, and need her hands and feet no more •for ever. She could not witness the demon'-. ±ion of her joy, and in the great tumult of Sher passion had come away •whej-e they could not find her. She had lain in bed awake all night, and left before daybreak, bo that no one could detain her. She turned ■upon her side and worn out with her conflict fell asleep, and as she slept all traces of tier sorrow passed from her face. Sometimes she smiled, and between her parted lips her iwhite teeth shone ; then " Kapai, wahine ! " she called, as she dreamed that Grace and she played together. Snatches of old songs" broke from her lips ; the name of the stranger pakeha and the " Mountain Man " ; and then two big tears came through her fringed Jashes and slowly rolled down her soft, brown cheeks. She was telling her dream again -Grace, for she said, in a low broken voice, " I 'am the priest of Life's wreckage," he answered "jne. Her lips moved to inaudible words ; 'then she spoke distinctly: "AH wreckage 'drifts here. . . . And then I awoke be,loved." -• After that she slept so quietly that the little birds hopped down from the loftier toughs to those overhanging her, and twistang their necks peeped sideways at her ; but she slept profoundly beneath the canopy of leaves, the flush deepening on her cheeks, her rosy lips parted to emit her breath. The jwarm, still air, charged with electricity, aided her slumbers. She lay unconscious (while her girl friend with pale face vowed to the pakeha priest, in the quiet of the dismantled drawing room, all things that love dare vow " till death did them part." , Aroha awoke suddenly, and with a questioning gaze looked round. She peered through the matted creepers at the bay. fThen she remembered. She sprang to her feet and looked up. The sky was covered ,with cloud, so she could not read the time from the sun, but there was the feel of the late afternoon in the air. The heat had intensified and the air grown closer, and the swell of the waves was visible from where she stood. The aromatic scent of the vegetation was very strong. There would be a storm sooner or later, that Aroha knew. The ■heaving of the sea told her it was travelling for many miles. She hastily descended the till, drinking deeply at the cold rill before she went. It was all over now, she thought. jShe had slept away a day of disaster. Half stupefied by her long sleep, and oppressed by jfche heavy atmosphere, she felt numbed — too numbed to suffer poignantly. A dull weight .oppressed her, but she hurried on. The tide was coming in, and her boat was 'tossing about like same chained thing with life striving to be free. Once away from jthe rocks Aroha pulled vigorously, but the journey back was harder than it had been there, and when she ultimately arrived at the little landing place by the whare she jvras wet through with the waves and perspiring at every pore. The tired girl gathered some dried fern, and boiled the kettle and made herself some tea. It was the first time since Grace returned that she had taken tea liere alone. She thought of it all — all the glad days of the summer- — and a lump rose dn her throat. All the anger of her grief ihad gone with her sleep, and with it the animal courage of anger. She was alone now .•with all a sorrow's desolation, lonelier than those who are in touch with its spiritual aspect. She did not struggle any more, but the low roof of the whare seemed to bear down upon her with suffocating weight. She went put, and, crossing the little bay, slowly climbed the zigzag path to the jutting headland, and near the edge of the rocks lay in iher favourite attitude among the tussocks and the fern, looking down into the green .waters which dashed themselves against the .■cliff sides. The sky in the west was a sullen red. Birds, insects, and cattle were ominously still. The storm was gathering, ffhe girl's eyes flashed like those of a war horse at the sound of a bugle call. She ,would stay there and watch the storm. It suited her mood, and this child of Nature jwas startled by storm neither on land nor sea. She could hear the waves lashing the rocks below. Occasionally through the hot air the salt spray reached her face. The evening grew darker and stiller, and Aroha's eyes, always keen, were very acute as she lay there, her nerves strung with subdued excitement. She could hear the soft swish of garments gradually drawing near, and, straining her.

eyes, she saw suddenly turn the bend or the cliff the shadowy form of Grace coming towards her, like an apparition standing out in relief against the glowing patch of western sky. Aroha did not stir. She was hidden where she lay, and her mood was. yet too sullen to encounter the caressing charm of Grace. She feared she would yield, and she must not. This act of her friend, venturing so far in search of her in face of the coming storm, had in itself weakened her opposition. Grace had evidently been to the whare and found traces of her. She called : " Aroha ! Sweetheart ! " j But before Aroha could reply she heard other steps, hurried and distinct, on the path, and another figure came into sight againsi the darkening glow, a man's figure — Mark's. "Wahine," he called while he was yet a step or two off, " I saw you before me, and ran to overtake you." Grace at the sound of his voice stood perfectly still. Aroha unconsciously held her bceath, stunned and stupid, gazing at them from between the fern, and listening to the first low ominous rumbles of thunder from over the sea. Every moment it grew darker, and the first flash of lightning illuminated the black hills and brought out into weird relief | the white-gowned woman and the eager face \ of the man. " Wahine, I have 'come back," Aroha heard him saying in rapid utterance. " Stay with me here, and let me tell you why. I have -come ,back because I love 4 you, dear — because I could not go dn without 3 r ou." Another flash of lightning lit up the cliff, and revealed Mark with Grace's hands held in his, and Grace looking into his face with • dazed wonder. " No, don't speak," came his voice front . the darkness. " Let me tell you all. I tried to go. I got as far as Sydney to meet my ship. I told myself I needed nothing but intellectual triumph, that the only rest possible for me was a life of combat. I was the Mountain Man, and I would not come down. I tried to stamp the thought of the Meadow Maiden out of my heart, and I was angry with myself because I could not. I felt mean as a leper who had been healed, and went on his way without thanks. I had come to you bruised and broken ; I was going away healed and strong. You had -given me enfranchisement of spirit, and my only return was to seek to crush the memory of you out of- my heart." Again the greenish lightning lit them up luridly. Mark's arm was about her now, and Grace was still looking up at him with frightened eyes and face as white as the lace scarf about her head. " But I loved you little one," came Mark's voice as the rumbling thunder ceased. "I loved you from the first, and I have been compelled to recognise the fact. And I have been taught a humbling distrust of myself. A little child on the boat, frightened at my stem looks, cried and shrank away from me. It made me afraid. The horror of the future loneliness appalled me. I felt it when I came here first, wahine — when by my own wish I was left alone. It was bad by day, but it was terrible by night. I was so lonely I could not sleep." He drew her closer to him as another blinding flash of lightning made every crevice in the rocks and the angry sea as visible as at noonday. But the man had no thought of the breaking storm. He continued : " Yet I did violence to my love by the vacillation of my will, until the last bell rung for the departure of the boat. Then a panic of terror came over me that I should never see your face again, and I ran off the boat. I have come to ask you to forgive me, to ask you to return with me, dear ; to help me as my wife to build a green patch walled in from the world, where I may grow my softer nature. Will you rest your hand always so upon my arm, my white wahine, child of the pakehas? Will you come into life's battle with me, my dear? I want you so. All my heart is hungry for you. I am a poor thing to lean on, but — lean on me, love, or I must stand alone. You are gentle and wise, help me to throw off my pedantry and to see with the eyes of a boy. I have suffered a hundred years in these four weeks' tortures of mind and soul." Suddenly overhead broke a deafening thunder crash, peal after peal reverberating and echoing from hill to hill like the roar of a thousand angry lions. The clouds opened and the ran poured down in torrent? Aroha sprang to her feet and 7 vi,.d through the streaming rain. A vivid flash again lit up the cliff. It was bare. With a loud cry Aroha rushed to the edge. Another flash, and she saw something white struggling in the water below. " Coming, wahine ! " she shouted through the storm and in a moment she had stripped off her skirts and dived from the ledge from which Mark and Grace had fallen.

The Maori girl came to the surface, and in the next flash of light scanned the rain-beaten waves. On the crest of one near she saw Grace. With a few strokes she reached her, and, battling with the waves and swimming hard with one hand, got her to' the shore. Her splendid physical strength served her now as it never had done before. Half naked and her limbs free, she almost ran with the unconscious girl and laid her out of reach of the waves ; then back again to the sea, and with a loud cry of " Pakeha Mark ! " plunged into the waters again. By another lightning flash she saw him in a swirling wave. With a mighty effort she struck out and got hold of him. An hour ago her existence had seemed burdensome ; now with pitiful and dsperate energy she prayed for the strength of ten The ingoing tide aided her, and lifting them on a great wave threw them on the shore. The muttering thunder travelled miles away anlong the mountains, the lightning playing faintly about the peaks ; the rain ceased, and the moon rose over the sea. The refreshing wind blew over the three unconscious faces, and at length Aroha opened her eyes from her second sleep that day. Half fearfully and with slow languid movements she crept to the body of Mark, and in tremulous tones called on him to speak. He lay with-his head on his arm. A quick sharpness came into Aroha's face ; her manner quickened and changed. She studied his features, and bent her ear to his heart ; then, with eyes dilated with fear she half rose and cried out loud. There was no answer save the roar of the surf. Then she got up and went swiftly along the sands to Grace. The moon was so bright that, as she peered fearfully into the delicate face, she could see the bhie veins in her forehead. " Wahine, beloved ! " she wailed ; and '.hen she called out again 'for aid, but no deliverance came. Grace's eyes half unclosed and closed again. With a distrected cry of joy Aroha folded the soft, small body in her arms, and, stooping, with tremendous strain lifted her upon her back. Gasping and tot- \ tering beneath her silent burden, half naked, her tall majestic figure bent, praying to the God of the pakehas not to let her stumble, not to let her fall, with bare bleeding feet she toiled along the cliff path to the pakeha's home. (To be continued. J