And Ramparaha, the lineal descendant of the great Tuahariri, led the way through the surrounding raupo, or scrub, up a very steep hill, from the summit of which was a view of considerable extent.
“You see that big lake?” he said, pointing his shrivelled hand towards a melancholy sheet of distant water, in which the mountains were darkly reflected. “She is always staring at the water—some day it will take her. Her heart is not here—but in her father’s country.”
As Ramparaha spoke, they reached a solitary wattled hut, and in reply to a call, the ghost of Rata appeared in the doorway. She was incredibly changed—robbed of every trace of beauty, worn and emaciated—and wore a Maori skirt, and jacket, her masses of hair hanging down her back. At first, she looked dazed, and startled; then her black eyes took a fierce expression, as she surveyed her grandfather’s companion in expressive silence.
“I have come to fetch you, Rata,” he said.
“The last time—you never came—you—deserted me,” she answered hoarsely.
“Rata, I could not help it—I met with an accident and was unconscious for days. When I recovered you were gone—and I have searched the world for you! Will you believe me, and come home?”
Ten minutes later, the befeathered old chief gave an audible grunt of satisfaction and relief, as he beheld his granddaughter and the Englishman walk down the hill together hand in hand.
III
THE NORTH VERANDAH
A chance meeting in the hall of a Swiss hotel, in the vicinity of the visitors’ book, a polite “After you,” and a similarity of surnames led to our acquaintance with two charming Americans. The acquaintance ripened into friendship, and ultimately my sister Lucy and self discovered that Mrs. Washington-Dormer and her son Philip were connected with our family, and that we, the Dormers of Ashley Gardens, Victoria, London, S.W., were cousins (several times removed) of our namesakes of Rochelle, near Lexington, Kentucky, U.S.A.
Mrs. Dormer was a widow with a good figure, snow-white hair, and a bright, intelligent face. She had also a cheerful manner, and an air of suppressed energy. Having confessed to the national passion for old places, old curiosities and old pedigrees, she set to work to examine our family tree, from which it appeared that a certain relative had emigrated in the year 1810, settled, married and founded a dynasty in that State, so worthily celebrated for its thoroughbred horses and blue grass.