“That you are nothing in my eyes is not quite true, Wanaki,” she said softly; “but at present I cannot say how false it is. Let us go back and see if Te Makawawa has finished his long thoughts.”
We retraced our steps for the most part in silence, and as we went I felt that perhaps—who knew?—there would be a daybreak to my darkness. I read into her words the possibility that she might give me some of the love that Kahikatea would most certainly thrust aside without ever dreaming of its existence.
CHAPTER XXI.
CRYSTAL AND HINAURI MEET.
When we reached the open space about the stream Te Makawawa was still sitting there on the bank with his head bowed. Dreamer Grey, on catching sight of us, threw away his unlighted cigar and came to meet us.
“I am the most patient of men,” he said, “but—I suppose the old chief there knows what he’s about.”
“We can do nothing but wait,” I said, and we all sat down on the mossy sward to do so.
But we had not to wait long, for presently the chief started to his feet and began striding rapidly up and down the bank. His head was erect, his step was firm, and but for his grey hair and aged face one would have said he had not grown old. His pace quickened to a run. He stopped and performed an imaginary fight with the empty air, thrusting with his spear and shouting battle cries as he had done in his early years. Then he dashed down his spear with the air of a man whose mind is made up, threw off his outer robe, and, with a short run, plunged from the bank.
We rose from the ground and ran forward to see if the ancient one was really equal to this daring feat. Two, three, four minutes we stood looking at the dark pool, and then Grey said:
“If he hasn’t got through he certainly won’t come up alive now.”
“He must be through,” I said, “he must be through.” But I was getting anxious.