‘Un Sou for your thoughts, D'Estrelles,’ cried Captain du Freshe gaily some days later, slapping that personage lightly on the back, as, with arms crossed on the taffrail, he appeared lost in contemplation of the briny fluid beneath. An oath, but half suppressed, betrayed how the sudden salutation had startled its recipient, and the good-humoured Captain quickly apologised, mingling gall with his honey, however, by adding:

‘I really forgot for a moment, mon ami, how nervous you have grown.’

D'Estrelles angrily repudiated the imputation, declaring his nervous system perfect.

‘Yet you start, like a woman, at shadows.’

An ugly response followed, and then Monsieur d'Estrelles, who seemed in a thoroughly bad humour, divulged in no very studied language the chief subject of his recent musings.

‘This new el Dorado has not yet produced any gold,’ he said, morosely, ‘and I was just thinking, mon ami, that it was about time some serious attempt was made to discover whether we have not been decoyed out to these cannibal islands on a fool's quest.’

An angry flush rose to Du Fresne's brow, but controlling himself, on observing the haggard looks and bloodshot eyes of his passenger:

‘Monsieur forgets,’ he said mildly, ‘that several prospecting parties have already made careful explorations without success.’

‘Already!’ retorted the other, grimly. ‘Why, we've been lying here nearly a month, sufficiently long, one would think, to have explored the whole island. But, as I have already said more than once, prospecting parties in which the natives themselves predominate are a farce. It is to their interest to mislead us, and their espionage prevents all freedom of action.’

‘But you forget, mon ami, that in a country so new we must, for our safety, have guides, and further, we would without them always be in danger of in some way violating this incomprehensible law of tapu which seems so all-prevailing.’

‘D——n the tapu! The gold, if they know of it, is most likely tapu, but that would not hinder me from filling my pockets with it if I had the chance. Let us survey the country without native help—or rather hindrance—and if we find indications, defy the tapu and those who would enforce it. We have ships and stores, men and guns. A handful of men with muskets could easily put to flight a host of these savage. whose flaxen armour

The Maori warriors sometimes wore over their chests defensive armour of dressed flax thickly woven.

‘God forbid.’ cried the humane commandant, ‘that I should seek to emulate Cortes and Pizarro, at whose inhumanity Europe even yet shudders.’

‘Pardieu.’ exclaimed D'Estrelles, with a sneer. ‘I understood you were ambitious. Monsieur, and desired to distinguish yourself by adding to French possessions.’

‘You are right, Monsieur. That I regard as a laudable object, and it is my purpose ere we depart to annex these islands in the name of His Majesty. But I desire to do so without strife and bloodshed, and even should we at the outset fail to find a golden treasure, they are a sufficiently fair possession in themselves to add prestige to the French name, and to gratify our Royal master.’

‘Pardieu.’ returned the other, angrily. ‘I am as reads as yourself to cry vive le roi, yet, nevertheless before His Majesty's gratification I place my own, and nothing short of gold will satisfy me, Du Fresne. 'Twas for that I came out to this land of savages and, pardieu! there'll be the devil to pay if I have to return without it.’

It is needless to detail the whole conversation. Suffice it that the Captain, whose temper was under excellent control, and who wished—while respecting the rights and institutions of the native—to mollify one who had a large stake in the venture, gradually talked his passenger into a better humour, and it was finally arranged that a picked party should set out before dawn the following morning for the head of the stream, upon which was situated the kainga of Takori. Native espionage would thus be avoided, and a long day's undisturbed fossicking in the gorges of the locality ensured, while the early habits of the natives would, it was reckoned, enable them to return past Takori's kainga unobserved, spite of the moonlight.

One stipulation the Captain made, and that was that Arnaud should be left behind.

‘If we are unaccompanied by natives,’ he said. ‘we shall not require an interpreter, and I mistrust the sleek rascal, whose extraordinary influence over some of these people I neither understand nor approve.’

* * * * * * * * * *

As Monsieur d'Estrelles' valet had foretold, when the kainga lay wrapped in slumber that personage came out from his whare, and, seeking the beach, wandered to and fro, like one possessed. The night was beautifully clear and light, but silence brooded over the scene, the moon cast eerie shadows. But Monsieur d'Estrelles, though somewhat unhinged by lack of sleep and excess of brandy, was of a practical type, and no fear of moon-made phantoms mingled with ins disagreeable thoughts. Backwards and forwards before the kainga he passed for some time; then, extending his walk, he strode on and on, as if purposed to circumambulate the island. He had made about half the distance, when suddenly his ears caught the sound of a stealthy step behind him. Turning hastily, he was in the very act tripped up and thrown violently to the ground, where he lay on his back partially stunned. He came to in a few moments, only to find himself blind-folded, gagged, and bound hand and foot. Swiftly the red giant bore him to the canoe, and silently, save for the sound, of their paddles, the two accomplices shot away from the island in the direction of the rocky bluff, above whose distant face they designed to chain their victim. Neither spoke, for Arnaud had made the other promise not to address him.

By the time they reached their destination the moon was near its zenith, and its mellow light revealed every detail of the solitary scene. From a storm-twisted pohutukawa overhanging the cliff depended a strong cable, and a zigzag row of projections in the face of the precipice indicated a possible but dangerous means of reaching the top, while at its base great masses of disintegrated rock promised certain destruction to the unlucky climber who should lose his foothold. Pierre's gloating eyes took in every detail, and, chuckling grimly, he proceeded to lift the unfortunate prisoner out of the canoe with an unnecessary roughness which proved the fixity of his baleful purpose.

Arnaud soon made himself scarce, leaving to Pierre the congenial task of completing the nefarious business. Slipping the noose over his victim's head, he unbound his feet and removed the gag from his lacerated mouth. Blind-folded still, and manacled, Monsieur made desperate efforts for freedom; but his efforts were futile, and served only to excite the brutal mirth of his merciless foe, who, pulling the bandages from his eyes, laughed in his face with bitter malignancy.

All was now ready. Manacled still, and held by the tight-drawn noose, his toes just touching the sand, Monsieur was at the mercy of his enemy, whose reasons for bringing him here he was at a loss to divine. In the first moments of his capture he had imagined his assailant to be a native, and took it for granted that he was backed up by a following; but, lying in the bottom of the canoe, he remembered the Maori dread of the night, and now that his eyes were unbound he saw that his captor was one of the crew. But having come but little in contact with any of the seamen, no motive for the treatment he was undergoing suggested itself, though intense animosity and malignant purpose on the giant's part were very clear. His cogitations were, however, soon cut short by a very unpleasant sensation of swift upward movement, and a few seconds later his feet rested on the brittle edge of the beetling bluff, and glancing downwards, he could see his adversary fasten the free end of the lifting cable around a jutting rock, and essay the critical task of clambering up the face of the precipice. Avoiding overhaste, Pierre accomplished this in safety, and then, deliberately taking his stand a few feet from his prisoner, he pushed back his fiery locks and glared at him savagely.

‘So, Conrad d'Estrelles,’ he said harshly, after some minutes survey, ‘you do not know me, it seems.’ Then, with a sneer, ‘When you discarded your old name and obligations, you doubtless threw off old memories with them—a very convenient mode of getting through the world if one can only carry it out. But I wonder not at your failing to recognise me, for I, too, am changed. Two can play at the game of disguises, and when you saw me last my hair was another colour. You start. Yes, Conrad d'Estrelles, alias Louis St. Maur, alias Jacques le Blanc, the wolf has come up with you. Pierre le Loup has run you to earth. Ha! You thought you had finally eluded me, did you? You dreamed that at the Antipodes you would be safe. But you reckoned without book, my fine gentleman, and even here the law of Utu prevails. A very good law it is too.’ He laughed grimly. ‘And now Jacques le Blanc, since you have spent my money, you shall pay me with your life, and then we shall he quits. It was not enough,’ he resumed with increased bitterness—‘it was not enough to steal mon amante, but you must also rob me of the reward of my patient plotting, the labour of years. I forgave you the first—though I sent her quick l'enfer—for she was pretty, and you were young, and—I had need to you: but I owed you a grudge, nevertheless, and now Babette Michel, as well as I, shall be avenged, for you were her real destroyer—you, who enticed her from me. Yes, Babette was pretty, and fresh as a spring flower,’ he continued with a faint touch of regret in his harsh voice ‘and too light-hearted to die so young. But——Bah! What am I saying? The dead only are happy. And I treated you both in orthodox fashion, for does not society pet the libertine and spit at his paramour? Ha-ha! It's a queer world we live in, Jacques le Blanc, and you will be well out of it, now you have lost your illgotten gains, for it loves not poor devils. But your death shall be less speedy than that of Babette, my boy. You shall have time for repentance. Ha-ha! But keep your eyes open, mon ami, lest you lose your footing, for with this necklace round your throat you would in that case be somewhat uncomfortable, and no one likes discomfort less.’ He paused, leering with triumphant malice upon the dumbfounded villain who had so long eluded his search, for the fastidious Monsieur d'Estrelles was in very truth no other than the Gipsy fiend, Jacques le Blanc. Roger Radcliffe's murderous valet. ‘You are silent, man,’ he mocked again, presently. ‘Have you then naught to say, no plea to urge, no confession to make? Well, it grows late, and I must be going. Not being in orders, I cant offer to shrive you, but I can at least render you one last office. Ha-ha! And then, good-bye for ever.’

He bent forward, and by a dexterous and unexpected movement encircled with a leathern strap his prisoner's throat, but jerking violently backwards the latter wrenched himself free, at the same instant flinging his manacled arms over the giant's head, and drawing him closer in a vice-like clasp. His own fate he felt was sealed, but at least he might make his enemy share it, and to that end he applied himself with the energy of despair.

In the early grey of the following morning the Captain s boat, with the exploring party, came softly alongside the landing place at Motu Arohia, where it had been arranged that Monsieur d'Estrelles should meet them. The moon had but just disappeared, and in less than half an hour day would break. Meanwhile, the light shed by the quiet stars was of the faintest. D'Estrelles had promised to be in waiting, but he was not there, and though all peered their hardest into the dusk around, not a sign of his approach could be detected. They waited awhile, not venturing to speak: they whistled softly, daring the risk; they grumbled audibly, growing impatient; but still he came not. At last the Captain, in subdued tones, full of vexation, gave the order to start.

‘If we wait any longer,’ he said, we may abandon the journey, and it is unlucky to turn back. What can have detained D'Estrelles? It is too inconsiderate of him. Give way, men. ‘Tis almost day, and not for worlds would I let the natives catch us trying to steal a march on them.’

The boat sped away from the island, the regular dip of the oars the only audible sound until they were about half-way up the stream which formed the highway to Takori's kainga, when a gentle sough rustling through the foliage on either hand spoke of the dawn, and a second or two later shrill cries of ‘Kaka! Kaka!’ rang through the forest, momentarily startling the whole party.

‘Give way, boys.’ again urged the commandant. ‘There strike the native clock.

The cry of the kaka was with the ancient Maori the signal to rise.

Swiftly the men plied their oars, and keeping as much as possible under cover of the abundant foliage which garnished the bank, the boat shot past the kainga, in which not a sign of life was visible to the keenly observant eyes bent upon it.

The possibility of being seen from the pa on the hill did not occur to any of the party, who all drew breath with infinite relief when they found themselves clear out of sight of the scattered whares, on the bank. But from that elevated spot at least one pair of eyes, keen, eager, malevolent, noted with suspicious wonder the stealthy approach and rapid disappearance of the pakeha boat, and Takori—for the eyes were those of the redoubtable chief himself—grasped his club and sprang to his feet as though he had caught the distrusted stranger in some misdeed which demanded utu.

These, however, kept on their way, their Sight hearts rebounding after the recent strain, and their merry voices waxing louder as they got further and further away from human habitations in blissful ignorance that a fleet canoe paddled by several dark silent figures followed in their wake, and that when they landed every step of their way was dogged by the tireless feet of native spies. Not venturing to light a fire, they breakfasted on cold meats with appetites sharpened by the morning breeze, and then began the business of the day, the prospecting, the industrious search for indications, however faint, of the existence of gold. But as the reader may not be endowed with the preternatural patience which carried the wondering spies through that long day, he shall be spared needless detail. Enough that the Frenchmen's labour was, like virtue, its own reward. As the afternoon waned, the more mercurial of the party, growing somewhat weary of their unproductive toil, took to botanizing by way of a change, and found their new occupation so engrossing that unawares they wandered gradually quite out of hearing of their companions. Struck, at length, by the utter silence and solitude around, they were on the point of retracing their steps, when one cried:

‘Is not that a palisading showing redly between the trunks of those trees there?’

A palisading in the deep recesses of the forest seemed an improbability, but all admitted that the object pointed out looked like nothing else. A few steps forward would solve the question and satisfy their curiosity, and these were soon taken, to the unutterable dismay of such of the spies as had tracked the wanderers. Their instructions were not to lose sight of the pakehas, but although they had followed like shadows, they had done so latterly with a shrinking dread which almost palsied them, for every step brought them nearer the sacred grove which formed their hapu's thrice tapued place of sepulture, a place no human consideration would have induced them voluntarily to enter. When, peering through the dense undergrowth, they saw the strangers walk boldly up to the dark red

Red I was the sacred colour of the Maori.

Unconscious alike of their proximity and of the character of the enclosure, the vivacious Frenchmen scrambled over the fence, not without some difficulty, for it was of considerable height, and chattering volubly, lost no time in gratifying their curiosity, now thoroughly aroused. Once within the sacred precincts, a singular scene presented itself to their wondering view. The palisading surrounded a grove of karaka—the beautiful New Zealand laurel—whose sliming foliage in contrasted finely with the dark red colouring of a multitude of carved images, of the same grotesquely repulsive character as those about the kaingas. These were of many shapes and sizes, from the squat half-length to monstrous statues ranging up to forty feet. Their number was legion; every available space bristled with them. They were uniformly red, and all of surpassing ugliness, despite their fine and elaborate carving. Great eyes of pawa shell leered through the greenery; protruding tongues mocked in the open; from the ground frightful abortions grimaced; from aloft giant caricatures glared at the too curious strangers. Above, beneath, on every hand, the red monstrosities obtruded themselves, always with staring shell eyes and out-hanging tongues, until, what with the silence and gloom, the volatile strangers felt their inquisitive ardour something damped. Still, disinclined to go back to their comrades only half-informed upon the features of the singular place, they resolved on a closer inspection, and the distended orbs of the spies—now crouched tremblingly on all fours peering intently between the chinks of the palisading—beheld them scatter themselves with sacrilegious temerity about the sacred enclosure. Tiny red houses, not unlike dovecots, perched on tall poles: odd-shaped wooden cases resembling two ends of a canoe conjoined, placed on high stagings, and here and there amid the branches of the karakas, aroused curiosity as to their purpose; but not a sound or sign of life appeared to elucidate the mystery. One of the more reckless of the intruders suggested climbing a pole, or at any rate a staging, in order to examine the contents, if any, of the singular objects on top of them. The rest, however, felt that such an act would be easier performed than its traces concealed, and as a compromise it was determined to take down a canoe-shaped case which they had espied resting on the strong boughs of a tree close beside them, as, when replaced, possible damage in opening would be concealed by the thick foliage. With great care and infinite pains this was done, the spies in speechless horror watching. The thing appeared to be actually formed of the two ends of a canoe bound together and smeared all over with red paint. To unwind the interminable flax bandages occupied considerable time, and the sun was very low, but these earnest enquirers having gone so far, were not to be deterred now by any consideration. A loud vivat signalized the unwinding of the last band, and then the two halves were drawn apart. The Frenchmen, with beaming eyes and smiling lips, bent to gaze, but on the instant their smiles froze, their eyes dilated, and their bodies stiffened into obtuse angles, for there on the ground before them squatted a veritable Maori warrior! A chief, too! That was evident in the texture of the wrapper enshrouding him, the feathers adorning his top-knot, the quality of his ornaments, and more than all by his mere pounamu

Short club of a rare greenstone, highly prized.

‘For God's sake let us put the thing back and get out of this inferna place!’ cried one excitedly, and then, with nervous lingers they essayed the task of replacing the fastenings, for beyond a doubt that silent figure, still so lifelike, was dead. The odour rising to their shrinking nostrils was proof enough, and now, as they wound and. wound those. everlasting bands, it seemed as if the air had all at once become miasmatic. All the silent inhabitants of the gruesome place must be exuding putrescence. The thought quickened their trembling digits, if it did not add to the exactitude of their work. But they had not time to be precise; their chief thought was to get away from a spot suddenly become loathsome. However, they found that to get the novel coffin up the tree was a task which trebled in difficulty that of getting it down. In fact it was, in the absence of ladders or tackle of some kind, an impossibility. In their hurry to take it down they had not foreseen this. What was to be done? But the had not time to deliberate. They must go if they would not be lost in the dense bush, a climax to their day's adventures not unlikely as it was; they must go, and leave the thing where it stood, Stay. Happy thought! Turn it over on its side, so. Now it will be supposed to have fallen from the tree; been shaken out in a gale—what not? Vivat! And now over the palisading. Quick! and away to the rendezvous, but mind, not a word to the commandant. Haste! haste! But see, there is the moon uprising yonder. Hail, silver Queen! We shall not be lost after all, mes amis. Vivat!

* * * * * * * * * *

The spies, aghast with horror, aflame with wrath at the desecration of their holiest place, saw not the closing act. At the kaka's screech they had sped away, not daring to linger after sunset; and when, some hours later, the Captain's boat glided past the kainga, it lay sleeping in the moonlight silent as the sacred grove in the heart of the forest.

When Arnaud withdrew himself from the assistance of his huge confederate he did not proceed far. At the foot of the precipice, not a dozen yards away, was a sea-worn cavity of no great depth, and which appeared to lead nowhere. Inside this opening, which in reality was but the vestibule to a cave of far different dimensions, the valet glided, and in its deepest shadow awaited the completion of the dreadful deed which he had instigated. What his immediate intentions were, had things eventuated as arranged, matters little. Enough that the unforeseen catastrophe which culminated the vengeful proceedings frustrated them, and rendered necessary a totally different course of action. The fiendish laughter which broke from Jacques le Blanc as he entrapped his would-be destroyer reached his valet, where in brooding silence he crouched awaiting events, and brought him to the entrance from whence, looking upwards, he beheld in helpless inaction the terrible struggle and awful denouement. His existence had been totally forgotten by Pierre in the frantic excitement of the deadly duel, and both combatants were too high up to see him. And so with clenched teeth and knitted brows he had looked on until the final scene, which completely upset all his calculations and disarranged his carefully laid plans. His device to satisfy the big Pierre's impatient lust to destroy had been the result of much deliberation, but he had never intended it to be carried to completion, for he had no desire to see his employer die—that is, not yet—and for the furtherance of his own scheme of more refined vengeance he had meant to play the part of rescuer, when, Monsieur having suffered the bitterness of death, he should himself accidentally discover his woful plight. All this was now at an end, and his purpose rendered futile by what had just occurred, and as with rigid features and staring eyes, he gazed at the still quivering forms so horribly interlocked, he ground his teeth in impotent rage, his natural horror at the shocking event overcome by his bitter disappointment that the object of his own implacable hate had escaped the protracted tortures wherewith he had himself designed to render life accursed. His nature was essentially different from that of the red-haired giant, who had all his life settled his disputes by brute force. Slight of form, for a man, and thin to attenuation. Arnaud's purposes in life could never have been achieved by strength of muscle; therefore, being possessed of a wily nature and fertile brain, craft had stood him in its stead. Whatever the injury done him by the man he hated, its recollection never for a moment left him, and its complete and bitter revenge had become the sole though secret object of his existence. To blast the life of the man who had blasted his; to render day a weariness and night a horror; to shake his self-confidence, and break down his atheism, so that super natural terrors might take from him even the last refuge of the despairing, kindly death, this had been the valet's deliberate purpose, and having kept his secret well, he had so far succeeded. But now his enemy had escaped him, had gone into nothingness ere his punishment had well begun, and a bitter miserable feeling of failure and self-disgust took possession of the would-be avenger. No feeling of compunction stirred him, only poignant regret that his Utu had been so small. He might as well go hang himself at once, for his life's work was over, although life itself was scarce begun, for he was much younger than he-seemed. He had no motive now to live, no incentive to support life's burden. The thought of vengeance had been his food and drink, but now he had naught to sustain him; the pool was dry, and his burning thirst not half assuaged, and he panted, yes, absolutely panted, for one more opportunity to wring the soul of his enemy. Yet once this stony heart had throbbed with tender passion, and this nature so seared and distorted had appeared kindly and true. So great the changes which may be wrought in a human being by vengeful brooding over wrongs.

The valet did not hasten to where the bodies lay, for no doubt of the instant death of both entered his mind. That either could possibly survive did not even suggest itself, and the question of their ultimate disposal was a trifle. But after awhile he stepped to the spot, and bending over them found that the uppermost still breathed faintly. It was that of his master, and a ray of hope shot through the mind of the factotum as he made the discovery. As for Pierre, crushed by the weight above him, and falling, as he did, with his back on the rocks beneath, he was stone dead, and as he convinced himself of the fact, Arnaud experienced a sense of relief. His feelings for the huge sailor were of a purely negative kind, but he was at best an ill-tempered brute, and now there could be no further trouble with him.

But the first thing to be done was to separate the living from the dead, and this Arnaud accomplished without much difficulty. The heart's pulsations were very faint, but still the wretched man lived, though both forearms were broken near the wrists, and his hands were terribly damaged. But his nether limbs seemed all right, though, possibly he had received some internal injury, for though the pain of his broken arms—which Arnaud proceeded to set and bandage as well as his skill and appliances would allow—must have been excruciating, he continued unconscious, and but for one or two faint moans might have been thought as devoid of life as the mangled corpse which had borne the brunt of the fall.

By degrees Arnaud dragged him inside the cavity so lately occupied by himself, and here began a more difficult task, for its floor, moderately level for a distance of about four feet, shelved gradually upwards from thence almost to the roof, which just there sloped downwards, so that looking up at the latter in a casual way roof and floor seemed to meet, and no ordinary observer would have suspected that this shelving basement receded on the far side until it reached a much lower level than at the opening, or that the narrow space, which looked from below at most but a rift in the rock, was the entrance to a spacious and lofty cavern with deep recesses and far-extending galleries. To get the unconscious and perhaps fatally injured sufferer up the rocky slope and through the narrow aperture above it was no easy matter, but the valet was gifted with exceptional perseverance, and at length it was accomplished.

The cavern was, of course, shrouded in darkness, but Arnaud, who seemed familiar with its interior, produced from a recess some pieces of kauri gum, which, when ignited, burned brightly, emitting, however, a somewhat suffocating odour. But the cave being large, and the bits of gum small. the light was just about sufficient to make darkness visible; at any rate, it threw all the recesses into deep and awesome shadow. In truth, the place which Arnaud was about to turn into an invalid's chamber was just the last in the world that any sane patient would have chosen for himself. It was, in fact, nothing less than a charnel house—an ancient depository of the bones of illustrious Maori dead.

It should perhaps be explained for the benefit of those unacquainted with Maori customs, that, after remaining in the place of first deposit until decomposition was complete, the dead were exhumed, and the bones scraped clean, painted red, and carefully wrapped up in mats, or placed in boxes, before being consigned lo their final resting place. In the case of illustrious chiefs this process was repeated several time, and then they were secretly placed in their ancestral sepulchres, usually lone caves or unfathomable pits, known only to the priesthood.

‘I can do nothing more at present, and the title is rising. He can't get out of this, and there's little fear of anyone finding him. Our people would never dream of a cache here, and the natives would a soon enter inferno.’ Then looking down on the insensible form with an expression of deathless hate and utter loathing, which strangely altered his visually expressionless face:

‘Farewell for the present, tison d'enfer!’ he said in hard grating accents. ‘We shall meet again.’

The tide was indeed rising fast, and the canoe drawn up in a tiny cove hard by, already afloat. Arnaud had thought of dragging out the body of Pierre to meet the incoming tide, but the rocks had become slippery, and on the whole he reckoned that the tide could do the business alone. So plying his paddles, he returned to the encampment at Wai-iti, and ensconced himself in his master's whare, Well assured that there he might make up for his loss of rest without fear of interruption.

The edge of the sun's disc had scarcely appeared above the horizon on the morning after the sacrilege of the exploring party when an appalling sound smote on the still morning air, and echoing front each peak and crag roused every sleeper in the vicinity of the Bay of Islands. It was a most terrific trumpet blast, and was given out by a tetere, blown from the highest staging of Tinakori's fortified pa. tetere was a wooden trumpet some seven feet long, with one lugubrious note, aptly described as resembling ‘the voice of a dying wild bull.’ This doleful instrument was chiefly Used to alarm surrounding districts when hostile incursions were dreaded, or to notify the approach of an enemy. To native ears it spoke with no uncertain sound, and its dreadful moaning now acted as an instant eye-opener to the drowsiest lie-a-beds, while every warrior, as he noted its direction, grasped his weapons and breathlessly awaited developments. To the Frenchmen the sound conveyed nothing except an instant impulse to stop their ears, and as after half-a-dozen notes the dismal music ceased they troubled themselves very little about the matter, lightly ascribing the incident to the sudden freak of some crazy savage. Before, however, it had ceased to sound, a dozen dark-skinned couriers sped to the landing place, and selecting the lightest and swiftest canoes, shot down stream, and away to different points about the bay.

Mean while, in the pa itself all was commotion. Ovens were heated, food stores opened, small game killed; women busied themselves preparing eatables and plaiting food baskets; slaves: ran hither and thither bearing fuel and water, for visitors were expected. A korera (conference), of leading rangatiras from contiguous kaingas had been called in haste, and the company—in accordance with time-honoured custom—must be feasted on the best the pa afforded; so; as the ancient Maori abominated underdone meat, the working bees had to set to early. Overlooking all, from a lofty standpoint, determination in the lines of his lips, ferocity in his deepset eyes, stood the chief Takori, surrounded at a respectful distance by the more distinguished of his warriors, all silent as shadows, and all reflecting in their tattooed visages the menacing aspect of their leader.

* * * * * * * * * *

The sun has long passed the meridian. The rangatiras have arrived and been fed, and, assembled in the wharenoa, the aggrieved and in sulted chief has detailed to them his complaint, whereat every visage lengthened, and every brow grew black. In glowing terms he related how the holy place of his people had been desecrated, the tupapaku (dead body) of his uncle, the illustrious high priest and sorcerer Taku-tai-o-te-raki (sea coast of heaven)—deposited there only six weeks before—dislodged from its resting place, forcibly discovered, and rudely handled by the prying pakeha tau-reka-reka (white slaves), and how, worse than all, the mere pounamu, Tahito kuru (ancient blow), the ancestral weapon, transparent as the summer sea, and sanctified by the touch of his illustrious progenitors, had been by unholy hands abstracted, and was even now on board one of the pakeha ships there in the bay.

To detail each speech would be wearisome. Horror and loathing of the deed were the sentiments expressed, swift and bloody reprisals the utu proposed, until it came to the turn of Te Whatu Moana, and he, in genuine friendship for the pakeha with whom he had for weeks past been on terms of such intimacy, and whose civilization and its products he had from the first seemed instinctively to appreciate, suggested in the metaphor so dear to the old Maori orator that possibly the white strangers were less guilty than appeared. Doubtless in their own far-off land very different customs from those of the Maori prevailed, and may be they understood not the full significance of the tapu. Again, it was possible they were ignorant of the sacred character of the place they were violating until too late to repair damages. And then how many had been engaged in the sacrilegious deed? It was the Maori custom—among Maoris—to exact utu from many for the offence of the few, and from any part of the offender's tribe, but would it be just to act thus towards a people who knew so little of their usages? Would it not be wiser, especially as the pakehas were brave and strong, and possessed of infernal weapons for destroying life, even at a great distance, to find out the personally guilty rather than, as advocated by his friends, to kill indiscriminately all the pakehas they came across? He thought also it was a matter which should be left in Takori's own hands. He was the person aggrieved, and his mana was such that the pakeha must yield him satisfaction. Marion, the chief of the pakehas, was a reasonable man. Let them wait a few days while Takori demanded from him the lives of the actually guilty. If this reasonable satisfaction were refused, then let them meet again to reconsider the matter, Meanwhile, taihoa (wait).

Shortly before noon on the subsequent day, the chief of Wai-iti, having slept off the effects of his over-indulgence, awakened very thirsty, and with a fixed impression that only homœopathy would relieve the burning in his gills. A burnt child may dread the fire, but the lean chief had less wit, and so far from dreading the firewater,

Wai piro means literally ‘stinking water.’

At last, in his desperate craving, he resolved to go aboard the Captain's ship and bluff the authorities into supplying his wants. He did not go empty handed, however; on the contrary, he took along with him a slave-paddled canoe laden with good things. But the Captain, who happened to be aboard, seeing by the old man's haggard aspect and reddened eyelids that he had quite recently imbibed more than enough, firmly refused his request, and neither cajolery nor bounce had any effect in shaking his determination. But the old fellow, squatting on the deck like an ugly fixture, after his dry throat refused to discharge any more abuse, looked so woebegone that ultimately the good-natured officer relented, and expressly stipulating that he should ask no more but immediately return to the island, permitted him one glass. After that there was ‘Auld Hornie to pay.’

Taranui doubtless meant to keep his promise when he gave it, for the Maori of the olden time generally respected his plighted word, but he reckoned without accurately gauging the effects of his drink. These, however, were almost immediately manifest. To save glassware, his quantum of liquor had been given him in a bottle, which he was not long in draining. But such a ‘wee drappie,’ whilst it quickened his-pulse, only increased his thirst, and protesting excitedly that it was not enough, he demanded more, more, More, accompanying his demands with mysterious and ugly threats. His ravings at first only induced laughter and good-humoured banter, but when, exasperated out of, bounds, he grasped the bottle by the neck, and like a demon on the rampage, began to ‘run a muck,’ the gaping bystanders gave way, and scudding in all directions, left him temporarily master of the deck, where a number of his own people and sundry others from various parts of the bay squatted in amused or stolid wonderment as to ultimate results.

Captain du Fresne, who had retired to his cabin, hearing of what was passing, soon reappeared upon the scene, and peremptorily ordered the chief and his people ashore. Re-animated by his presence, the seamen and others gathered round ready to enforce his commands, which none but a madman would have disputed, unless backed up more effectually than Taranui was like to be. But the old chief, naturally brave as a lion, was too excited to consider either the reasonableness of the order or his own means of resistance. He was, in fact, a temporary monomaniac, and shouting aloud for more waipiro, he struck out so wildly with his brandy bottle that the boldest drew back and began to look round for weapons of defence. In two minutes, despite the Captain's efforts to maintain order, a regular měěe was in progress, in which several broken heads attested the correctness of Takori's description of the brandy-loving Taranui as a ‘devil to fight,’ and as the other natives present felt in honour bound to back their own colour, there is no telling how the scrimmage would have ended had not petit Jean's ready wit brought matters to a somewhat hasty conclusion.

The little man, lithe as a cat and agile as a squirrel, was also possessed of some mother wit, and aware of the extreme danger to his pate of attacking the irate warrior in front, he managed in the confusion to sidle behind him, and vaulting; upwards as lightly as a kangaroo, he clutched the sacred topknot, and in an instant the chief lay sprawling on the broad of his back, and being pounced upon before he had time hardly to realise the situation, was pinioned and incontinently placed in irons, neither the Captain nor his subordinates realizing how horribly out of proportion to the offence the punishment would seem to Maori minds. A sort of gasp passed through the dusky throng as the chief was precipitated, and cries of dismay greeted the ensuing outrage. That the daring violators of his sanctity did not immediately fall dead struck them with surprise; but they suspended hostilities, and not daring or caring longer to remain inactive spectators of their chief's degradation. with one accord began to scramble into their canoes.

Just at this moment a small light canoe, propelled by a single pair of arms, came alongside, and the paddler making it fast, got on board, and then, astonished at the unusual aspect of affairs, stood still and looked around askance. The fine proportions and queenly bearing of the newcomer proclaimed their owner, although the thick draperies enveloping her whole figure and drawn over her head scarce left uncovered more than the soft, expressive, and now enquiring eyes. It was Takori's favourite daughter, and Captain du Fresne, suddenly becoming aware other arrival, moved towards her in obedience to a gallant impulse.

Meanwhile, the departing natives had in brief but forcible language acquainted her with what had occurred, and her eyes as she received the Captain's greeting showed both dismay and disapproval. He attempted to explain matters, but shaking her head gravely, she merely replied in serious tones; ‘Ka kino’ it is bad), and then enquired for ‘Konrat.’ as the natives called Monsieur d'Estrelles. The Captain could give her no information, not having seen his passenger for a day or two, but supposed him to be at one or other of the kaingas, and with stately seriousness the girl took her leave, refusing all entreaties to prolong her stay.

Meantime, the fallen and manacled chief had recovered his sobriety. Nothing could have restored it so effectually as the treatment to which he had been subjected, and which was an offence to his dignity as a high rangatira quite beyond the power of the victors to gauge. All his bluster suddenly ceased, but a dull menacing fire burned in his eyes as he sullenly brooded over the unpardonable outrage. He, a priest, a divine one, a descendant of Tiki the God-begotten, seized by his sacred hair, laid on his back, bound in chains! It was monstrous, incredible, inexpiable! No Utu could wipe out such a deed. Its memory would impair his mana forever. Every tutua in would point the finger and say. ‘There walks Taranui, whose topknot the pakeha pulled, whose limbs they fettered. Where was his mana, hu! that they did it with impunity?’

The Captain went to him after a time, but, staring straight before him, the insulted chief made as though he heard not the words addressed to him, and, smiling at his savage sulks, the gay Frenchman turned on his heel and went whistling aft.

Some two or three hours later Lieutenant Crozet came on board looking seriously disturbed. The Captain had meant to devote the whole day to writing up his log, but he seemed doomed to interruption. A native version of the morning's, fracas had reached the lieutenant, and something he had heard led him to look upon the affair more gravely than did the captain. Not a native save the ironed chief remained on the Captain's ship, and his own, he said, was equally deserted—a fact he considered as significant as it was unusual. Moreover, that afternoon his vessel had been visited by the beautiful Rau-kata-mea, who was seeking D'Estrelles, and who herself seemed sadly distraught by some unspoken trouble. He had been unable to give her any information, and she had left the ship weeping silently. It was the first time he had seen a Maori cry naturally, and he thought it most ominous. The girl told him she could find D'Estrelles nowhere. Did Du Fresne know his whereabouts?

The Captain had to confess his ignorance, but as Monsieur had come and gone in very irregular fashion since their advent, he presumed he was in one or other of the kaingas, and as they were numerous, it would be quite easy for the girl to miss him. One of the sailors had seen the valet Arnaud the night before with Naku-roa, and very likely they were both in that chief's pa. However, as Crozet seemed so anxious, and as it was a little odd that Monsieur should absent himself from the ships entirely, the Captain promised to send a party to seek him if he did not turn up by the next evening, when they should have returned from their day's fishing in Manawaoroa Bay.

‘Parbleu! my dear Captain, you surely will not think of going to Manawaoroa Bay after what has occurred here to-day?’

‘Most certainly I shall go. Wherefore not, my friend?’

‘Forget you then, Captain, how vindictive these people are? Depend upon it they will be incensed when they hear how that chief there has been treated, and parbleu! you may be made to pay a heavy penalty.’

Captain du Fresne laughed gaily.

‘Mou Dieu, Crozet, but you are growing suspicious. In the first place we go to the bay early in the morning—Takori and his people are there to-day preparing for us, getting the ovens ready to cook the fish, propitiating their deities, and what not—so they will know nothing of this trifle. In the second place, is it likely that after a month's cordial intercourse, the natives would turn sulky or vindictive, merely because I have been obliged to check the ungovernable rage of one of their number? I believe, myself, they are more likely to applaud me, for there are some really sensible good fellows among these people, and none of them approve Taranui's passion for stimulants. Why, my dear fellow, you are growing morbid. Come with us to-morrow. You want a change, I can see. A good days sport will drive all these fancies out of your head.’

‘Not I. parbleu! I share not your liking for these people, and I must say plainly, my dear Captain, I think you trust them too far.’

But the Captain, confident in his own judgment, and buoyant with health and good-humour, laughed at his lieutenant's warnings, and after indulging in a little further badinage the subject was changed.

Before sunset the prisoner was released, and as not a single canoe was within hail, he was rowed ashore, the Captain judging it wisest not to detain him on board all night. Refreshment had been offered him, and silently but emphatically declined. As the boat touched the beach he rose, and stepping ashore, stalked slowly away apparently deal to the sailors' cheery parting salute.

'Sulky brute! ‘A true savage!’ they commented as he disappeared, but he heard them not. Not to the kainga, but to a bare height on one side of it, he took his way with slow step and downcast eye, and, arrived upon its summit, sat him down upon a low stone, and drawing his mat over his head, spent a miserable half-hour. Then suddenly leaping to his feet, he glared with fiery eyes upon the two ships riding so calmly at anchor, and raising his right arm aloft, shook it threateningly, while lifting; his red eyes heavenwards he gasped:

Three days had elapsed since the fortuitous event which resulted in the lodgment of the man of many aliases within the cave by the seashore, and he had not yet recovered consciousness. Nightly had he been visited by his valet, who pillowed his head, covered his limbs with warm rugs, and devoted the long hours of darkness to watching by his side, and administering remedies designed to allay internal pain, and gradually overcome the shock his system must have sustained. Arnaud had made a thorough examination without finding any material fractures save those near the wrists, although both hands were terribly smashed and swollen. The valet, however, seemed to consider them not worth a second thought, merely curling his lip as he took in the fact that the shapeliness on which the owner had prided himself was spoiled for ever.

So far the wretched man had lain as his factotum placed him, an inert mass, too sunk in stupor to make the least movement of body or limbs; but on the third night a restlessness set in, an uneasy writhing of body, a quivering of the heavy limbs, as though he were awaking to pain. He muttered, too, from time to time inarticulately, and again fell into stupor. So on during the early hours of the night. Then he began to dream, horrid dreams to judge by his contortions and incoherent mutterings—not, strange to say, about the dreadful circumstances immediately preceding his present sorry plight, but of events farther gone. He seemed to be going over confusedly the last dreadful scenes of his life with Eleanor Radcliffe, and he who had never known the voice of conscience was evidently now in his helpless misery undergoing its torturing accusations. As the slow minutes passed vision chased vision through his awakening brain, and at last, with a cry of agony, as though Nemesis had laid his heavy hand upon his shoulder, he awoke, and sat bolt upright, staring about and trying with dazed eyes to peer through the sepulchral gloom, at the same time wondering vaguely how he came there. The air was chilly, and an unpleasant musty odour saluted his nostrils, but the darkness allowed him to distinguish nothing of his surroundings. The endeavour to recollect, to recall something which should explain to himself his position, fatigued him, and mechanically he raised his hand to press his aching brow, but the sudden uplifting of the injured limb sent a thrill of pain shooting through every nerve, just as a rush of recollection brought back the awful sensations which preceded his fall. And now cruel pains began to make themselves felt through his bruised and shaken body, while his fractured arms, and worse still, the stiff and untended hands caused him acutest agony. Where was he? And what ailed him? His physical anguish almost took away the power of thought, but still the questions obtruded themselves. He spoke, and his hollow tones were given back in startling echoes. He stretched out his arms but they came in contact with nothing. He tried to feel the material of the floor beneath him, but his swollen and lacerated fingers had lost all sense of touch. He essayed to rise, but the attempt to aid his enfeebled nether limbs with the superior caused him such horrible pain that he fainted away.

When he came to again, some time subsequently, his lodging was no longer absolutely dark. A pale flickering light threw into relief dark broken walls, and lost itself in inky shadows. Nowhere about him was any object clearly defined, and whether he was in a dungeon, cave, or ruined hall, he could not determine, although he applied to the question all the wit which awoke with him. A resinous suffocating odour blent with the sickly smell which he had noticed before, but look which way he would he could not discern from whence the faint light proceeded. With difficulty he again sat up, trying hard to make out objects. Presently a creepy feeling came over him. Was it fancy, or were those really deaths-heads over there in a row grinning at him? He must be dreaming again surely, and he closed his eyes for an instant, opening them wide the next to make sure. Deaths-heads! Unmistakeably, deaths-heads! and beneath them skeletons! one, two, three, four—Good Good! there were dozens of them! What was this? where was he. His brain reeled. The skeletons seemed coming toward him. Certainly they moved, or was it the play of the uncertain light, which wavered strangely? Where was he! Had he been thought dead and placed in a tomb? He had heard of Maori cave tombs, and, as in the midst of his agony past events, remote and near, trooped in mental review, he concluded himself incarcerated in one of these Golgothas. Had he previously taken more pains to be accurately informed, he would have known better, but his knowledge of Maori institutions was limited, and his mental condition hazy.

While he glared, with starting eyeballs and twitching muscles, at the fleshless forms paraded in front of him, the light became fainter, the heavy shadows grew blacker yet, and scarce by straining his eyes to the utmost could he perceive his skeleton companions. Terror thrilled him. The light was fading out. Great beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. It was bad enough to find the dead bearing him company, but to be alone with them in the dark—Horror! His nerves had been terribly shaken, and doubtless he missed his cognac, for his ordinary stoicism, his scoffing courage, had vanished completely. He had quite forgotten it, and beside himself with affright, he again attempted to rise. But at the moment his attention was caught by a faint distant gleam of bluish light, opposite to him, but at a considerable distance, in the heart of a desert of blackness. The light was curious, and it instantly riveted his gaze, so that he forgot his intention, his height bours, and indeed all save itself. It was not the small flame of lamp or candle, but a luminous cloud, as it were, in the midst of the thick darkness; and as he gazed, it slowly advanced towards him, not lighting up the darkness, but gleaming through it, plainly enough, but cold and pale. And now he could have sworn its form was changing. It seemed to lengthen and grow slighter, and still, with an almost imperceptible motion, it drew near, and ever nearer. Surely it was a female form, tall and ghostly, with trailing robes of woven light. What could it be? On, on it came, straight towards him, but lingeringly, as a summer cloud floats through the languid air of noon. All around was blackness. Even the grinning skulls and erected skeletons were invisible, but it seemed to grow whiter as it came, not with, the cheery light which, shedding its rays abroad, brightens surrounding objects, but with a cold, opalescent gleam which accentuated the darkness; and as with stiffening hair and starting eyes the unhappy man awaited its closer proximity he recognized it—not a flame, nor a nebulous cloud, nor a will-o'-the-wisp, nor any of the fantastic suggestions of his brain—but his wife, the murdered Eleanor! In soft flowing draperies such as she wore when last he saw her, only gleaming now as with a phosphorescent light, gliding like a phantom, towering above him like the queen of a ghostly realm. Yes, it was she. She halted within half-a dozen paces of him. He could see her clearly—her robes of snowy white her falling tresses of raven blackness, her glittering eyes, and regal aspect. But her face was sternly set, and her eyes like those of a basilisk. She compelled his gaze; her look appalled him, and yet he could neither faint nor flee, but cowering there in physical anguish and mental prostration, he knew himself at her mercy. He would fain have covered his face to shut her out from his sight, but she held his eyes pitilessly. From the other world she had come, he felt—the other world in which he had never believed, at which he had scoffed profanely. He had left her dead, he was sure of that, yet here she was confronting him, but like no creature of flesh and blood. Slenderer, more ethereal than Eleanor Radcliffe had ever been, she appeared preternaturally tall, and her translucent robes were gleaming with unearthly lustre. Here, too, in this abode of the dead, of all places! All this and more passed swiftly through his distempered brain, as his strained eyes answered her piercing gaze. His head was in a whirl, and his blood seemed to turn to lead, but his eyelids dared not fall. Not a sound, not the faintest rustle had so far broken the awful stillness. In silence befitting the tomb, like a dumbly accusing spirit she stood over him, pitiless and cold as one who dwelt among shadows.

But suddenly a sound fell on his ear, the sound of weird laughter. Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! The effect was appalling, for instantly from every recess and gallery came back the hollow echoes, until his reeling brain was convinced that his unwelcome presence had interrupted a ghostly carnival, for surely a legion of spirits would be needed to keep up that uncanny merriment, cruel, cold, mocking, unearthly. The sounds grew fainter presently, and even more ghostly, until at length they died whisperingly away in the gloomy distance. His blanched cheek had become ashen, his muscles twitched convulsively, but she, whose eyes had never wavered, still held his enchained. And now she spoke in sepulchral tones, attenuated (if the phrase may pass) as her spirituelle form.

‘So, Jacques le Blanc, we have met again.’

Like the touch of icy steel her tones chilled his blood and he shivered.

‘Thou tremblest, unworthy wretch!’ she went on, ‘but fear me not yet Thy race is not quite run. Thou shalt drain the cup of earthly anguish, and then, when thou callest upon death to deliver thee, then, blood-stained soul shall thy punishment begin. In life thou hast called evil good and good evil, but after death will come retribution, and vainly then shalt thou plead for pity—thou who hast shown none—and in thy anguish call upon the rock to hide thee from infinite wrath, for thou art already condemned, and those who shall gather round thee in the spirit world whither thou hastest, will laugh at thy calamity, and mock at thy fears.’

She ceased, and once again, but louder, shriller, more fiendishly derisive, rang out that awful laughter. Ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! and as peal after peal reverberated through the sombre galleries, the guilty sufferer sank back heavily in a deathlike swoon.

* * * * * * * * * *

Hours might have passed; it set-med to himself that ages had done so ere consciousness returned to the wretched man. Wearily, languidly, he awoke, remembering nothing at first, but presently recalling all the horrors of his recent experiences and present position. The cave was once more in total darkness, and its faint cold odours chilled and sickened him. One thought above the dreadful sensations evoked by memory possessed him. It was how to find a way out of the charnel house. To seek it might involve fresh perils, but remain stationary he could not. No possible horrors could exceed those he had passed through, and death, ay, hell itself was preferable to waiting quietly there for her re-appearance. Painfully he raised himself once again into a sitting posture. Blindness might have overtaken him for all he could see, and his arms were worse than useless; in their present disabled condition they were actual encumbrances. But after a bit he got n his knees, and in this way. with variations, shuffled some distance, but his progress was necessarily slow in the extreme, and he was tortured by the ever present fear that in the darkness he might be turning his back on the entrance, and thus literally leaving salvation behind him. The darkness continued, but alter some time he was conscious of a change in the atmosphere. It was colder, and certainly purer. Surely then he must be nearing the entrance. He trembled with hope and again shuffled on. Once or twice he managed to stand for a moment, but weakness soon brought Him to his knees again, and feverishly he strove to hasten on. At last he halted and tried to think calmly. The fresher air was undoubtedly coming from above, and yet he could detect no opening, not a chink through which it could come. Better perhaps to wait awhile. Possibly it was night in the outer world. If so light might reach him in time. If not, better here, though it was very cold, than breathing; the offensive air of his former resting place, where horrible skeletons grinned at him in the awful darkness.