Louder and louder came the thundering roar from the abyss. The sound seemed to have risen several tones in pitch, and from this fact I strengthened my conclusion that the vast cavern was gradually filling. There was now no way out except that by which Kahikatea had come in—the ‘way of the spider.’ Should we scale that way, or should we sit in darkness, with the body of Hinauri between us, and wait while the rising water surged up through the tunnels and covered us? I thought the latter grim alternative would be the end; at least I felt like it as I turned and toiled again up through the tunnels.
The way was dark and I had no light now, but with slow and heavy footsteps, groping my way with both hands, I at last gained the Place-of-Many-Chambers. Even there all was dark and silent. I fell over the arm of the lever on the stone floor, and Kahikatea cried out, “Who goes there?”
“I, Warnock; strike a light—my matches are wet.”
As I gathered myself up I heard him strike a match on the rock, and, by its light as he held it up, saw that he was still sitting where I had left him, holding Hinauri to his breast. He did not speak; his face was set with grief, and I was moved with a great sympathy towards him. In the endeavour to show this I went up to him, and, placing my hand on his arm, looked into his eyes, saying nothing.
He understood. “Thank you, Warnock,” he said softly and sadly; “have you ever lost someone who was all the world to you—someone whose going left a dreary darkness, which you wrapped closer about you while longing for death?”
“Yes,” I replied slowly, “I have.” The match went out. My hand slid along to his, and they met in a clasp of silent sympathy. He did not know—I think he never knew—that the one I had lost was the one lying cold and still upon his breast.
“Stay here, Warnock,” he said presently; “stay here and lighten my darkness. I have given way beneath this load of grief, and must rouse myself. Stay here and talk; I will listen, and try to struggle up out of my black despair.”
“I will,” I said, though it occurred to me that my own feelings were scarcely such as would lighten anyone’s darkness. “But first give me the matches, and let’s dispel this outer gloom.”
He handed them to me, and I went in search of a pile of pineheart torches which I had seen on my first exploration of the place. I lighted one, and then carried an armful into the open space and set a light to them. Soon there was a blazing fire, which cast a ruddy glow on the rocky walls and ceiling of the Place-of-Many-Chambers. Tenderly Kahikatea disengaged the fair arms from about his neck, and, bearing the white form into the open space, laid it gently down upon the rocky floor not far from the fire. Her head rested upon the soft pillow of her floating hair, and her limbs fell into the beautiful pose of one who is sleeping sweetly. As I looked down at her peaceful face, and saw still resting upon it the last smile of joy that had marked her spirit’s flight, I could scarcely realise that she was dead.
Then Kahikatea and I sat down one on each side of her, but neither of us spoke; it was a kind of vigil, and I could not break its silence. I had made the fire, and that was all I could do towards lightening the darkness of my friend. But I will not say what thoughts came to me in the presence of the lovely dead. They were strange thoughts of another world, where, in some inexplicable way, eternal love means eternal possession of the thing loved, where beings that love the same are one with their beloved. But these are not thoughts we can explain.