“O Chief! I have found the little maiden, and I have also brought the man who has forgotten the faces that he knew.”
I called to them, and they came from behind the trees.
Crystal stood before him looking like a mountain lily in her white dress. As soon as Te Makawawa’s bright eyes rested upon her he started, and, drawing back the step he was taking, remained in an attitude of astonishment. His eyes wandered from her face and form to me, and there was a question, a perplexity, almost a doubt written on the lines of his rugged visage.
“Friend of the Forest Tree! is this wild white swan, such as a man sees once in a lifetime, the little maiden?—or have you deceived me?”
“The Friend of the Forest Tree does not deceive,” said Crystal, before I could speak. “If you are Te Makawawa I am the little maiden of many moons ago whom you carried on your shoulder. Do you not remember the heitiki round my neck, and the little kaitaka of kiwi feathers I wore? See! my black eyes and hair! do you not remember them?”
She threw off her sun bonnet as she spoke, and stood facing him, as if half conscious of her sculpturesque loveliness.
The question, the perplexity, the almost-doubt deepened upon his face.
“Eta!” he said, turning to Grey; “is this your daughter with the eyes and hair of ancient night? Speak, O Man-who-has-forgotten; does Te Makawawa dream in the daytime?”
Grey, knowing nothing of the language, turned to me and we spoke together, while the chief gazed long at Crystal.
“O Chief,” I said at length, “the Man-who-has-forgotten says this is the little maiden left by Tiki in his hut while he slept. But why do you doubt my word, O Tohunga? Do you think the little white Children of the Mist have changed the child? Kahikatea and his friend have ever spoken the truth to you.”