“None other shall chant your loveliness,” he cried fiercely, and yet there was worship in his aspect; “none other shall say, ‘She came again at my bidding.’ Oh! Hine-tu-a-hoanga—sacred stone on which I sharpened my curses to cleave the heads of the Vile Ones—you are as a house that shall not stand. And this great house that holds your house shall be closed for ever.”
At this point I was sure of his purpose, and resolved to go in search of Hinauri herself in the Place-of-Many-Chambers. She would stay his hand if I could not.
The thrall that held my feet relaxed as I turned to descend. More fierce and high the chant of Ngaraki sounded behind me as I went. My torch was still burning where I had left it, and I picked it up to hurry on through the tunnels, sick with a vague fear that, as Hinauri had said, she and the stone had but one spirit between them; that the tohunga’s ancient magic, which had glanced from the granite Cazotl to the real, might—I fled on, striving to run away from the terrible thought. The chanting voice still reached me faintly through the high tunnels as I emerged into the Place-of-Many-Chambers. My God! What was that? A crash! and a yell! and another crash! echoing down through the tunnels from the marble cave above. My God! What was this? A woman’s shriek! a moan! and another shriek! coming from the chamber towards which I was hastening.
As I staggered forward I saw Kahikatea supporting the form of Hinauri drooping on his arm. Her face was as white as the stone image I had left in the marble cave. Yet another yell and another crash echoed faintly down the tunnels, and a tremor ran through the fair form, as Kahikatea sank upon a rock and supported her head upon his knee.
“She is dying, Warnock,” he said, in a voice of anguish, gazing down into her lovely face, while I held the torch so that the light fell upon it. The long lashes showed very black against the pale cheek, and her whole face and neck, to her cross-girt, white-robed bosom, showed too deadly white against the enveloping cloud of her hair. It was not a mere swoon.
“Yes,” I replied hoarsely, and the torchlight trembled as it fell on the rocks of the chamber, “it is death.”
As we gazed in too great agony for words, Hinauri’s dark eyes opened, her bosom rose and fell, and a sweet smile rested upon her lips as she looked up into Kahikatea’s face.
“Be patient, my lord!” she said, raising one arm and placing her hand against his cheek, “it is but a little time since we planned our work in this world, and now I have to go. It is hard, my love—but raise me up—it is sweet even to die upon your breast.” He raised her while she placed her arms about his neck and nestled to him.
“When I am gone,” she murmured, “take this poor body out on to the roof of the mountain, and there, on the shore of the crystal lake that stands against the sky——”
A low groan of agony came from Kahikatea, and she ceased!