The chief turned and laid his spear and meré on the white dust before her, saying: “Not only his spear and meré will the Maori lay at the feet of the Daughter of the Dawn, but his heart and life also. He was startled by the sound of war, and thought only of fighting for his queen. He will go to his people and tell them that the word of the Bright One is peace and love.”
He turned, and was about to descend the marble steps when his controlled emotions broke loose. Facing round he held forth his arms to her, while the answer to his lifelong prayers shone out upon his rugged face.
“The world is glad!” he cried; “no more shall Papanui’s daughters weep. Ihi-Ihi has come from the west. Hinauri has burst from her ancient tomb. By the magic of a woman has she burst her bonds. And now the long-sealed fountains of the Maori’s breast leap and dance and sparkle in the sun with music sweeter than the korimako’s joy. Ngha! I will hasten to my people: my heart is breaking with a mighty song.”
He hurried away, and his stately form was soon lost in the shadows below the stairway.
Then Hinauri, the daughter of Miriam Grey, turned to her mother with a strange blending of emotions upon her face. The dazzling glory of the ancient queen was now softened by the pure and tender light of a daughter’s love. She drew near to Miriam, and, placing her arms about her neck, folded her close, saying in a soft, low voice: “Mother! my mother! It is all clear to me now. I know myself; I know my name—it is written on the rocks that are buried beneath the dust of ages on the plain below, and upon the walls of this everlasting temple. Now I know the meaning of all my vague yearnings for some forgotten glory, some mellow splendour of the past, some memory of my ancient self. Now I know why the thought of ‘long, long ago’ brought tears to my eyes and yearning to my soul; and why I longed to fill the hearts of women with great thoughts and prayers, for it is by the high magic of Woman that my giants will come back. Look at me!” She stood away and held her arms aside, while there rested upon her face a perfect certainty that none could find a defect in her person. “Am I not as I came to you at the very first, perfect as the image that was reflected in the depths of your pure soul? Am I not the one who came to you and touched your highest thoughts with fire, who led your soul to the father of my choice? Yes, it was I that fanned that double flame with the breath of my desire. I gave my life to you and you preserved it by your constant prayers. Nay, more—I came to you because you were the only one in whom I could find myself. In your great love for what is pure and beautiful you held out all that belonged to me, and I came and took it, for it was mine to take as well as yours to give. And yet there are some who would say that I was not; that the full extent of this sign of power is that you fashioned me according to the model of your mind; that I was one with formless substance, and you moulded me to this form by the power of your imagination.”
She smiled and placed her arms again about her mother’s neck. Miriam Grey’s lifelong prayer for what is pure and beautiful was answered. She drew her child to her, and the beating of her heart against her daughter’s bosom spoke first. Then she said:
“You were the love that came to me out of the distant past—a ray of light from the golden skies of long ago. You are Hinauri, the Bright One, and yet—and yet you are my child.”
Her goddess stepped back, and again the dazzling regal beauty flashed out, but with a softened splendour, as she cried: “Ah! pure mother, whom I chose to be my guide! The stars in your eyes foretold my birth.” Her beauty changed to loveliness, and, as she drew nearer and continued, we in the shadows bent forward to catch her words, they were so low and tender: “Mother, sweet mother!”—she was nestling to Miriam’s bosom now—“if every woman mounted to the gates of heaven to find her child, and bore it from the skies sheltering it all the way, as you have done, there would be no more sorrow, no more death—only a coming and going of gods descending and ascending, from heaven to earth, and from earth to heaven. For long ages men have been only half-born. Earthward-bound souls have striven with their mothers for whole and perfect expression in flesh, but Motherhood has fallen from its grandeur, and they have striven in vain. The Bright Ones ever come to earth, but when their witless mothers misconceive their power and beauty, what godlike likeness can they bear? Alas! that women should have forgotten that their ideals may rule the world. Alas! too, that they should caricature the gods. It is to restore Motherhood to its first sublimity and power that I have come, and the mystery of my coming is the ground-plan of a mighty race.”
Hinauri paused and placed her hand to her forehead, as if she feared her memory was flitting.
“Though I can recall the past,” she said sadly, “I have no knowledge of what my future is to be; yet I feel that this clear memory will not be mine for long. Before the world’s oblivion closes in upon me again I would search out and look upon certain things in this ancient place—symbols of constant love for the higher things of beauty, and symbols, too, of the downward progress of those Vile Ones who have made stepping stones of their dead selves to grosser and to grosser worship. And when we go down to work and pray in the world, should we not leave the pure white image here as a symbol of our higher selves, for ever holding out its arms to the glory of the future?”