The chief drew near with the torch and held it up so that its light clearly showed the faces of all. Crystal was holding her arms out to her mother with a yearning look upon her face.
“I live,” she said sweetly; “I live, dear mother—why do you not take me in your arms?”
As the light fell upon the lovely face and form, all white and sculpturesque, Miriam Grey drew a quick breath—I heard it as I stood in the shadows—a gasp of unutterable astonishment. Her free hand clutched at the air, then swept quickly across her brow, while I wondered, for how could there be anything in that face for her to recognise after so many years? Yet it seemed there was something.
“Ah! God in heaven!” she cried. “Am I mad—or is this thing true? Te Makawawa, Chief and Tohunga! are you blind?”
I walked from the shadows round to where Crystal and Grey were standing, and together we watched this strange scene. I motioned silence to them, whispering that the chief would explain.
“I am not blind, O Miriami,” he said quietly; “but what my eyes see my thoughts put aside. My two eyes and your two eyes may speak false words in this dim light. The Light of Tane is in the cave above, and here are many eyes that may see and judge.”
He waved his hand towards us as he spoke. I was perplexed by his words, for as I understood the matter it was not a question of seeing clearly, but of simple confession on the part of the old chief.
“Your words are wise, O Friend of the Great Tohungas,” she said thoughtfully, with an almost terrified look at Crystal. “Give me the torch.”
He handed it to her and she moved towards the tunnel, holding it before her, and motioning us to follow.
“What did the chief mean?” asked Crystal, when I had translated his words to Grey; “he did not explain. My mother still thinks that I died when I was three years old. I do not understand.”