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Chapter XXVI The Greenstone Door

From that moment until, as one who wakes from sleep, I looked around me in the woods below Pirongia, wellnigh a year later, I can tell you nothing of my own knowedge. It is from what has been related to me by Roma, by-sundry natives, but for the most part one other informant, that I derive what is here written of that time.

With the fall of Orakau ended the war in the Waikato. Peace was established shortly afterwards, and those natives whose homes did not come within the confiscation boundary returned to their settlements. Among the rest came the villagers of Matakiki, still numerous in men past middle age and women and children, but sadly depleted of young braves. The house was reopened, and here Roma and I dwelt during the whole of the time of which I write. For my part, the place was a home only in so far as I made use of one at all; for there were days and even weeks together when my shadow never darkened its doorway, and the wild birds alone knew my sleeping-place. I suffered from no bodily ailment. It was only when my recollection of the past was touched at some point that there was much in my actions to distinguish me from normal men.

The central idea in my clouded mind seems to have been that I was still on my way to the British lines, or, rather, that I had escaped from the custody of the idiot and was now alternately concealing myself from him and page 392seeking the recovery of that lost intention which had incited my escape. This could scarcely have been so had I not continued to be aware, however hazily, of my identity. Perhaps it was the partial recovery of this lost intention which brought me back time and again to my home, and yet, arrived there, I asked no questions and seemed to be without anticipations with regard to it. Abroad, my travels were never to or over the actual scenes of my journey with the idiot, but veered continuously in the direction of Pirongia; so that with the main motif appears to have mingled another of which I can offer no explanation, unless it is to be found in the fascination the mountain had always possessed for me.

I have often wondered if it was some blessed instinct that urged me thus into the wilds, far from the haunts and taunts of men; that made of me a solitary wanderer, braving all weathers, careless of rain and storm, of the damp earth that formed my couch, sleeping with the sun and rising with it, till the health of a wild animal pervaded my body and the cloud lifted and passed away from my brain.

Conceive of me, then, as a creature of the woods and mountains, capable of thought and speech, harmless, timid, self-centred in my idea that I had escaped the idiot: and so let the autumn pass, and the winter; let spring be far advanced into summer. And now behold me, standing stock-still, my feet on the forest trail, bereft of the power of motion, watching the approach of the being I had so long successfully avoided. When he was but the creature of my imagination the wild bird was not swifter in its flight than I, but now that I beheld him in the flesh the power of movement failed me, and abjectly I awaited recapture. It was he! I knew him less by his appearance than by the stirring of my blood that stood to me for remembrance. I doubted not that it was in order to allay my fears that page 393he had disguised himself in the attire of a woman, and now, with swift movements, interrupted by sudden pauses, he drew near to me and, staring on me with great eyes, breathlessly spoke my name.

"… Cedric!"

"Yes, idiot, it is I. Now take me, for I see I cannot escape you."

"Where shall I take you?"

"To the General. Have you forgotten the Black One's instructions? If it must be done, let us go quickly."

"Wait here awhile, for I am tired. I have followed you a long way. Let us sit here and rest. Cedric! Cedric!

O God, be merciful! See what I have brought with me in my basket."

"I know! Pah! But you lost the kite's talon."

"… Bread and butter…. And a fowl—I got Roma to cook it for you. And here are some peaches, the first fruits of the orchard. There! You wouldn't think, would you, that these little things were so heavy? Now you must find us some water."

"It is your place to fetch and carry," I said, and threw myself on the ground before the good things.

"Yes, I will fetch it. That is the beauty of New Zealand; there is always water close at hand. I passed the creek not two minutes ago."

I lay still till the sound of footsteps had died away, then, quickly restoring the food to its place in the basket, I picked it up and ran at full speed down the trail. I had put several miles between us before, delighted with my ruse, I sat down to enjoy my meal.

In that hour my fear of the idiot began to wane. I had successfully outwitted him. His strength—had he not spoken of the flimsy basket of food as heavy?—no longer impressed me. I moved more carelessly, with the result that three or four days later I was captured again.

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"Apricots this time, Cedric. How long is it since you have been home? And the flower garden is just a picture. Come and sit down. We won't need any water until we have finished. That was cruel of you. And I have been looking for you every day since."

"Then sit farther off. It is not fitting that we should be such near neighbours."

"As you please. Eat, and I will wait upon you. …" 'I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile.'"

"Wordsworth."

"What do you know of Wordsworth?"

"Wordsworth," I repeated, frowning. "Wordsworth. He was a chief of the Ngapuhi." And I began to carve the fowl into two portions.

"Then what does he mean by his 'rugged Pile'?"

"A pile, creature," said I, "is the block used for the support of a food-store to preserve its contents from rats." And I smiled contentedly at this ingenious elucidation of a remembrance that had puzzled me.

"Is that for me? But I don't want it. You need not have stolen the basket, for it was yours."

"Eat," I insisted. "We have a long way to travel, and Heaven knows if our next meal may not be the heart of a nikau."¹

The creature made so poor a pretence of obeying me that my fear suffered a further relapse, I remembered having seen him take a bird from the spit ere the fire had well warmed it, and devour it, scarce troubling to discard the bones. But he was strangely altered.

"Eat," I urged again. "Though you may not sit at my table, you may divide my fare, and in a few minutes we must start on our journey."

"Cedric, will you come home with me?"

"What need of a better home than this? Here is shelter page 395from the sun and rain, wood for fire, and soft bedding for our limbs."

"But food! How do you exist and keep your strength? Often you must suffer from the need of it. Come, and we will go back together."

"When I feel hunger, it is a simple business to satisfy it. I have but to walk into a village at morning or evening, and take pot-luck with my friends. Why should I travel many miles for what I can obtain close at hand?"

"East, West; home's best. Listen, Cedric—do you remember St. Kevens?"

"I detest memory. It gives me a headache."

"Ah, but you remember the poet Wordsworth! Do you remember the garden and the narcissus flower; the boy who died of love of his image in the water; and the "host of golden daffodils"? Don't frown at me. Think! In the garden there are two children, a boy and a girl; they are standing looking down at the flowers. Now they have moved on. They are on a seat, talking together of the past that still lives and the future that is to be born. Look, you can see them. It is winter time, but the sun is shining," "It is a pretty story, idiot," I said; "but I could never understand why she ceased to love him. I remember now that you are right with regard to Wordsworth, and I am sorry that I threw your claw into the fire."

He drew back, looking at me disconsolately. "Why do you call me idiot? Was that too among the terrors?" Again he leaned forward, and in his voice was a wonderful seduction. "Call me by my name."

"If I ever heard it, I have forgotten long since," I replied. "What is your name?"

"Helenora."

"I told you that I detested memories. Now my head is splitting—tell it me again."

"Helenora—Helenora Wylde."

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"You are jesting with me. I suppose you think that I don't know that I am as mad as you are. But you cannot delude me into the belief that you were christened by a woman's name."

"No more a woman's name than I am a woman. Oh, Cedric, open your eyes. Was your idiot clothed as I am? Was his face like mine? Had he such hands?"

Hesitatingly I took the white hands she stretched out to me and scanned the soft palms and lissome fingers. "Mad! Mad!" I muttered. "Yet who was Helenora?"

"She was the girl in the garden: the girl who, thinking of the past, consented to the future."

"But why did she cease to love him? If I could remember that——"

"You must not remember that, for it never was. She always loved him."

"And your name is Helenora?"

"Yes, yes. And you were the boy in the garden. Oh, Cedric, if you but will it, you may awake." Suddenly she drew her hands from mine and, throwing herself on her knees, raised them in supplication to Heaven. "Merciful God," she cried, "have pity on me and on this afflicted one. Forgive my wickedness. Let his memory be restored to him."

"Prayer is good," I said approvingly, and knelt down before her. "Hear me, Father in heaven! For those wrongs I have committed, pardon me, and let not Your wrath continue against me. Lift this cloud from my mind, so that I may be as other men."

Her eyes, shining with tears, searched my face expectantly. "Ah, don't frown at me!" she cried at last.

"It is not my displeasure," I said. "If your head ached as mine does you would frown too. See, while we have been talking the sun has gone down."

She stood awhile, looking musingly about her in the page 397golden twilight. "Have you a place to sleep, or do you just lie down anywhere? "she asked presently.

"Come, I will show you"; and I led her to a cave in the rocks. Probably I had more than one such retreat, but this is the only one of which I have learned. It contained a small store of food—potatoes and kumaras—and a thin mist of smoke rose from my covered cooking fire. In a few minutes the hot embers were coaxed into a blaze, but the pain in my head had now become intolerable, and, sick to death, I could do no more. Giddy and half blind, I groped my way to the cave and sank into my couch of fern fronds.

"Cedric, shall I put some water on your head? … We did not need the fire. There is a beautiful moon. The forest is a carving in silver and ebony."

"… Never mind the cloth; just your hands, and say some of Wordsworth's poems."

"But your head will get worse."

"No matter. There is one on the verge of memory. I should know it in a moment…. Not that one…. Nor that."

"Can you tell me one line in it? One word?"

"I should know it."

"Are you sure it was Wordsworth?" suddenly her voice checked, and then, as one who recovered a memory:

"Wie ein Gebild aus Himmelshöhn
Sieht er die Jungfrau vor sich stehn."

"Yes, yes."

"O zarte Sehnsucht, süszes Hoffen,
Der ersten Liebe, goldne Zeit,
Das Auge sieht den Himmel offen,
Es schwelgt das Herz in Seligkeit——"

"Cedric." And softly, again, "Cedric." And the silence and the moonlit night.

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And in God's good time and at the call of Love I awoke, and my madness had passed and left no vestige in memory. I stared at the cave and the bush beyond. The sun was well up in the sky. A golden beam slanted to the entrance of my retreat, and down it—as an angel of heaven might come to the gateway of death—came Helenora.

The day was well advanced as hand in hand we turned our backs on Pirongia and followed the trail for home through the golden lights and leafy shadows of the bush.

"And they are all dead save Roma, and the war is at an end."

"Ah, Cedric, if you have lost all, so have I. Didn't you hear that Arthur was killed at Rangiriri?"

I drew her to a standstill and kissed the tears from her eyes.

"You remember," I said, "the image of the Greenstone Door?"

She nodded, and lifted her lips mutely to mine.

And so at last for us two also the Greenstone Door was closed.