“ ‘O Te Makawawa,’ she said, ‘the work is finished. Hinauri, the Bright One, stands free, but she does not yet live. Nevertheless, Chief and Tohunga, there will be another life in this cave before many days.’
“ ‘Blessed be the child that is born under the smile of Hineteiwaiwa,’ I said. ‘I will go to my tribe and bring back a woman to be with you.’
“I brought the woman, and Miriami’s child was born before another moon had set out to find the Sacred Isle in the West. Then was I summoned to the cave to see the magic the woman had wrought upon the stone. Hinauri stood free. She stood as thou didst see her in thy dream, O Kahikatea—a thing to wonder at and worship. E Koro! the magic of the woman was not of earth. It was the Chisel of Tonga—and more than that, though I know not what more.
“Then for two summers and winters I toiled in the temple, cursing the Vile Tohungas in the abyss at the full moon, as my father and all my father’s fathers had done before me, and singing the ancient karakias in the white cave at sunset. But the spirit of Hinauri returned not. Yet from that time forward certain men with the fire of the Vile Tohungas in their eyes found entrance to the temple. My thought is that they had heard a threatening voice teaching them strange things. Perchance the ages had told them how they had been tricked, and they came to learn the secret of our greater magic, and to destroy the Bright One. But, O Sons of Kiwa, I took their heads, baked them, and hung them in the abyss.
“But hear me, O Friend of the Forest Tree. These are my words to you, and this is the thing which keeps me from rest. When the little girl—Keritahi Kerei was her name—was able to run about and speak her own tongue and mine, I used to lead her and Miriami down to a place where the river hemmed them in against the mountain wall. Here the sun shone upon the moss, and flowers grew, and here the little one would play. One day I was cutting wood on the bank lower down, when I heard a scream, and, looking up, I saw Miriami standing on the bank waving her arms. I hastened to the place, and she pointed to the water, where I saw, rising to the surface, the little body of the child. O my brethren of the pale skin, I saw her white face, and in her hand she held some mountain lilies, in reaching for which she had fallen over the bank. The current swept her under, and though I plunged in at once, it was some time before I could find her among the twisting folds of the water. When at last I laid the little body at Miriami’s feet, its spirit had fled beyond Wai Ora Tane.[13]
“Have you seen the grief of a mother weeping for her child, O Pakehas? I hope I may never see it again. I sat down and covered my head, and my own tears flowed like rain. But not for long. Miriami dashed her tears away and tried to bring the little one’s spirit back from Reinga. I knew that a spirit sometimes halts and lingers on the hither bank of Wai Ora Tane; therefore I worked with her on the little body, trying to charm the spirit back, and, as we worked, I sang an incantation, while her tears fell on the child’s pale face.
“But Keritahi’s spirit had passed beyond the waters, from whose further bank none may return by the way they went. The sun was sinking when we ceased our efforts, and then Miriami sank down in despair. By the ancient rites of the temple no dead body must remain within its inner tapu. I told Miriami that I would bury it at once somewhere in the outer tapu across the stream. She pleaded with me to let her come, but I would not; I had sworn to my father’s spirit that she should not go beyond the inner tapu. ‘Then,’ she said, ‘bury the body of my child beneath the shade of the great rimu in the valley, where the tui sits and sings in the twilight, that when I listen from the mouth of the cave I may mingle my grief with his singing.’
“I promised this. When she had taken a last farewell of her little one, she sank on the ground numbed with grief, and I crossed the river with Keritahi’s body in my arms. As I was hurrying towards the rimu in the valley, I said in my heart, ‘It is the will of the tohungas—the child stood in the way of Hinauri. The attention was divided. Now the child is dead, Hinauri will delay no longer. It is best: the tohungas have spoken——’
“The tongue in my heart stopped, and I stood still, looking down at the child. Was it a tremor passing through the little body, or was it my dream? Who could come back after so long a stay in Reinga?
“I hurried on again into the shades of the valley, and came to a sudden stop a second time, for the body was trembling visibly in my arms. There was no longer any doubt. The little lips parted. The child drew a breath and sighed. Then the eyes opened and closed again. She was returning from the arms of the Great Woman of Darkness.