The remaining incidents in the capture of the memorable Gate Pah were duly recorded by Awariki for the benefit of the household—how the sailors, the sea-warriors of the pakeha, whose raiment was of a blue colour, they who sprang over the palisades as if they were ships' rigging, and the men in red who fought madly and cursed always, had been bewitched by the spell of the Tohunga of the Ngaiterangi, and had fled. The men in big hats (the Forest Rangers), who walked through the bush, the flax, and the fern by night and day; the Ngapuhi, who rushed on like a breaking wave, were all in vain against the rifle-pits of the Ngaiterangi, whereby men were killed without seeing who fired at them.
Passing from one mood to the other, as is wont with women whose highly strung nervous system seems impatient of continuous action, Hypatia at length made up her mind that Massinger was alive, and safely bestowed in some sylvan retreat, under the care of this mysterious, fascinating Maori girl, of whom she had already heard much.
The natural jealousy, invariably felt by the average woman during the appropriation by another one of an erstwhile, probable, or even possible lover, had no place in Hypatia's generous mind. "If only he is alive and well, I care nothing," thought she. "That she risked her life to save his, I can well believe. All honour to her. I am at least guiltless of his blood. I shall always feel grateful to her, for lifting that load from my soul."
Thus, when she arose next morning and commenced to busy herself about the indispensable duties of the household, she experienced a feeling of relief to which she had been long a stranger. The day was fine, the clouds of heaven had disappeared, it would seem, simultaneously with those of her spirit. As in the Northern Britain, with its frequent rain and hail, mist and snow, this rare day, on which the disturbing forces of the elements held truce, was inexpressibly lovely. The mountain snow-crown was revealed in all its purity and austere majesty, a silver diadem against the blue and lustrous heavens. The fruit trees in the garden, the oaks and elms, poplars and walnuts, planted in fond remembrance of the dear old home-land, seemed bursting into redundant greenery. The river rippled and murmured under its o'er-arching ferns, and as the little band of dark-skinned children, with their glancing eyes and smiling faces, all obedient and cheerful, passed on to the modest building, wherein they were daily so patiently taught by their pastor and his wife, she could hardly refrain from expressing her thankfulness for the success of this single-hearted enterprise, in which she had been deemed worthy to share.
That the wave of barbaric warfare might at any moment sweep over the peaceful scene, leaving ruin and desolation in its track, seemed, in the glory of that beauteous morn, incredible and preposterous. During later musings, however, when the routine business of the little school failed to absorb her attention, the thought would obtrude itself of the strange complication of affairs which would arise if, as was rumoured, Roland was about to marry this half-savage girl, as she could not but consider her. Beautiful she was by all report, devoted she must have been to her white lover, educated to a certain extent, and, in virtue of her father's lands granted in earlier times, an heiress of considerable pretensions. But——! She well knew what a death-in-life it would be considered by his English friends. Of course, it was far from improbable. Younger sons and others of aristocratic British families had married these fascinating half-caste girls, even those of pure Maori blood. This she knew from authentic sources. In this distant land, so far from British social edicts, such a marriage was not looked upon as a mésalliance. And if such should be his lot, who would have been the dominant factor in thus shaping his destiny? Who but herself, unwilling, doubtless, but none the less the primary agent in his deportation, his colonial career, with its risks, dangers, and this irrevocable lapse—finally, his absorption in a different class and an alien race? She felt minded to groan aloud. Why should she have been selected to work all this misery and ruin, ending, perhaps, in death? Why could she not foresee the direful consequences flowing from his fatal entrainement?
It was hard, very hard. Other men had paid her court before and since his advent. They had accepted their dismissals calmly, carelessly, irritably, sullenly, according to their several temperaments; in no case had serious results followed. They had mended their damaged or disturbed organs by philosophy, travel , gaiety, or marriage, chiefly affecting the latter anodyne. It was surely one of the ironies of Fate that the consequences to this particular pretendu had been so serious—the only one as to whose denial she had felt suspicion of her heart's teaching in the ordeal.
Now, at least, all was over. She had decreed that he should have no further part or lot in her life. If he was safe, Fate might do her worst. She had always claimed the right to mould her own existence. Surely she could do so still. Yet she sighed as she told herself thus proudly that she was sufficient for her own high conception of duty. As to happiness, that was another thing. Who were we, worms of the dust, ephemera of the hour, that we should arrogate to ourselves the right to a condition of perfect satisfaction? Harmony with our surroundings, always improbable, was chiefly impossible. The stars in their courses, as well as all the powers of darkness, were leagued to prevent it. And yet—and yet——Here the introspective reverie ceased, and Hypatia recalled herself to the more urgent and practical demands of daily life.
On the following morning Mr. Summers appeared at breakfast in an unwonted state of excitement, almost of agitation.