Puhiwahine seemed to have regained her youth; she sang with feeling, and her sweet voice, which never taltered, held the listening multitude in thrall. In voice and gesture she gave a polished performance to the last triumphant note in her singing of her rhapsody of love. Te Mahutu remained standing throughout. At the end of her song, Puhiwahine unfastened her shawl and throwing it over her shoulders she sat down and sobbed softly to herself. Te Mahutu looked up with a whimsical smile on his tattooed face then, glancing round to his people, he beckoned them to come near, and with his mere in his hand he delivered his speech of welcome. As the song for his speech he sang his own song for Puhiwahine (Chapter 4). His song had been well rehearsed, his voice rang clear, and to the lilt of the song he flourished his mere now high and then close to his breast. His people joined in the singing, and at the end of each verse, from their ranks would come the question, “Where is she, O Ma’?” In the presence of Puhiwahine, Te Mahutu's answer was—in a voice charged with emotion—“E haria mai nei e tana iwi.” (Over yonder, escorted hither by her people.) At the end of his song Te Mahutu came forward slowly to where Puhiwahine was sitting with her head bent low; and there—surrounded by their tribespeople—the two greeted each other in the hongi, the time-honoured touching of noses in greeting of their race. This was a climax to a poignant scene which touched every heart; and a moment, not without pathos, the like of which had never before—or since—been witnessed.

LIFE'S END Puhiwahine on her return from Oparure stayed on at Ongarue in the care of her son George. Among the earliest recollections of the writer was of Puhiwahine strolling along the roadway through our little village at Ongarue. She would often come among the little children playing their games, and with a softly spoken word she would affectionately pat a bobbing little head as she passed on her way. The last recollection is of the old lady coming towards the writer, softly humming a tune. A few paces away she stopped and looked intently at the apprehensive child before her, and then suddenly without warning she began to sing quite loudly. The child panicked and ran off to his mother. The writer was to learn later of the Hauauru romance from his granduncle, Te Hurinui Te Wano. His explanation for Puhiwahine's behaviour that day was because she must have learnt at that time that the writer was of the same family as Hauauru, and that she only did it in fun and meant no harm. From all accounts Puhiwahine lived a happy life at Ongarue. From the front door of George's home and to the east the valley of the Mangakaahu opened up a grand view of the Tuhua range. At its southern foothills nestled the Ngati-Hinemihi village of Petania, her birthplace. The writer opines that this view of Tuhua gave solace to her soul, and peace of mind; and that she found happiness and contentment in her declining years at Ongarue. The dawnlight of a summer's morn was lighting up the high bush-clad range of Tuhua when Puhiwahine passed away to join the many in the Whare Kura o Matangi-reia, The Temple of Fragrant Breezes. Editor's Note. This concludes Mr Jones' biography of the life and art of Puhiwahine, but a final instalment will appear in the next issue, giving the whakapapa of Puhiwahine, and a fantasy by Mr Jones seeking to throw what light he can on the relationship of Puhiwahine to the great German poet, Goethe. Te Keehi Kati, widow of Maraku Kati. (These two were also first cousins.) She is wearing two family heirlooms, a rounded piece of greenstone which at one time belonged to Te Rauparaha, and which he presented to Puhiwahine, and a greenstone tiki called Maunganui, which has been a family heirloom for several generations. The photograph was taken in 1958.