“It is as I said,” he replied absently. “The tribes are gathering from far and near; Ngaraki has spread a rumour that Hinauri will return shortly, and they are here to do her bidding when she comes.”
“Is there not danger in this?” I asked, for I saw that so warlike a people, led by violent chiefs, would be apt to differ among themselves; or, if not, some false prophet would surely arise and work them up to frenzy with the idea that they were now to drive the pakehas into the sea.
“There is small danger,” he said. “They are gathered for peace; but, if any should stir up among them, my warriors, who are now on the way to this place, will take their heads and restore peace.”
“But some violent chief,” I persisted; “some false prophet will certainly arise, saying he has been commanded by Hinauri in a dream to rouse the people to fight, and they will do it, Te Makawawa—I know the hearts of your people.”
“O Friend of the Forest Tree,” replied the old chief, “your words are not the dry leaves of foolishness scattered by the wind; yet, if it be even as you say, who can stand against Te Makawawa? And, if they should rise as the sands of the sea and cover the whole earth, could they escape the wrath of Ngaraki the Terrible?”
His eyes flashed and I felt answered, for though I smelt war very strongly I could not imagine the aged chief and the fierce Ngaraki on the losing side.
When we reached the Lion Rock that terminated the descending spur, the secluded valley and the stupendous outer wall of the temple were still in deep shadow. Dreamer Grey looked down at the stream welling out of the mountain’s side, then up at the everlasting granite, and finally turned to me.
“You know,” he said, “you know how sometimes you have a kind of vivid impression that you have seen some given thing before—well, that is exactly the feeling I have when I look at these rocks. I wonder if I shall remember as much of my wife’s face.”
I smiled at him as he gazed up at the rocks. “You will have one memory between you,” I said, “or perhaps her face will appeal to you ‘like glimpses of forgotten dreams,’ as Tennyson says.”
He did not answer: he was forecasting his happiness with his eyes fixed upon the mountain wall as if he could see through it. As I turned away to where Crystal was standing, she moved towards me and pointed to the aged chief sitting upon the mossy bank near the rock, buried in deep thought.