“Have you found her?” were his first words as he came down the slope in front of his hut to meet me.
“Yes,” I replied; “she is at the pa, and I want you to come and see her. Then we could all journey together to the mountain—with Te Makawawa as a guide.”
“When are you going to start?” he asked.
“The day after to-morrow.”
“That’s too late,” he said; “I’m going to start now, as soon as I can. I’ve almost worked my way through the rock, but ran out of powder, and had to go across the bay for more.” The look in his eyes was far away and abstracted as he added: “It’s a strange undertaking, Warnock, and it is a strange madness that has laid hold of me; but there’s method in it, and I mean to see that perfect face and form again.”
I saw that the desire of the poet for the symbol of his dreams was still strong within him, but nevertheless, I fulfilled the object of my visit.
“If you wish to see a perfect face and form,” I said, “come back to the pa with me. I cannot imagine anyone more perfect than Crystal Grey. Come back and let us all go together. The ‘way of the fish’ is easier than the ‘way of the spider.’ My dear Kahikatea, long solitude has made dreams and visions too real to you.”
“I know it, Warnock, I know it,” he said fiercely. “I am as mad as a mystic in this one thing—and yet there’s a meaning in it—a grand meaning!”
He paused in a contemplative way, then, recalling himself, continued, “No; there is no woman of flesh and blood for me—only Hinauri, the Daughter of the Dawn, and she is not flesh and blood—at least, not yet.”
He was tying up a great coil of rope as he spoke. Now he raised it on his shoulders, and I saw that he was ready to start.