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VI.

As Jack awoke a slight shiver rippled over his body, for the air was chilly, and he was clothed only in the light boating dress which he had donned for his disastrous day of sport. He opened his eyes and gave a start of surprise, for the scene was weird as well as novel and unexpected. He found himself lying on a bed of fern at the side of a small cave apparently formed by some tilted stratum of dark rock leaning against a wall of limestone. He was stretched under a shelf of the darker stone, while against the opposite wall of dazzling whiteness stalactites hung pendent, from the points of which drops of water slowly dripped and disappeared in a shallow groove cut in the stone floor. The light which showed the snowy stalactites came from a rude lamp, the oil in which was by no means too pleasant in its odour, but the smoke disappeared in the recesses of shadow which overhead hid the lofty roof from view. In the light sat a bowed figure that, white-bearded and with the face in deep shadow, crouched silent and motionless as though carved from the substance of the rock itself. Only a little flicker of the light by its motion now and then gave the semblance of reality to the scene; but for this Jack must have thought it a mere picture on the brain—a page 40vivid reflection from his distempered imagination. He tried to rise, but found that he could not do so—his bandaged leg responding with a sharp thrill of pain to his attempt at motion. Resolving to break the intense silence he raised himself on one elbow and said:

"Hello!"

Slowly the stooping figure lifted itself, and Jack saw that it was a Maori to whom he was speaking. Changing his language to the native tongue, he said:

"O friend, will you tell me how I came here?"

"You were carried here after the fish had speared you, that I might heal the wound."

Instantly the whole scene flashed back upon the young man's senses—the white figure in the gliding boat, the sharp combat in the tossing water, the painful wound, and the slow drifting away of consciousness as he lay awaiting the result of Nelly's efforts at rescue. Again he accosted the quiet figure and inquired the name of his aged nurse, but not directly, as that would be rudeness to native ears. To say bluntly, "What is your name?" would imply that the fame of the person addressed was not world-wide, and that his appearance was not celebrated. Therefore, he cautiously said:

"What is the name by which you are called among the men of your race?"

The old man answered:

"I do not know."

"Not know your own name?" exclaimed Jack. "Why, who does know it then?"

"I know my own name, fairy child," said the elder, with dignity. "I know my own name, but other men do not know it. I was called Maru among my mother's people. Many years have gone by since my name was spoken. I was a boy like you when I heard it last.

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You asked me by what name am I called among men of my race, and I say that I do not know. I am no one."

Jack stared at him, and then sank back on his couch. "Mad," he said to himself; "this is a lively spot to get into—I like this." Then he gradually sank into a doze, for the stupor of the nervous shock caused by the wound was still strong upon him.

Again he awoke with a start and a shiver, again to view the silent scene, the flickering lamp and glistening walls, the crouching figure. He felt that he must speak, that he must break the horrible silence, even if the antique specimen of crazy humanity was to be the only medium of conversation.

"Friend," he said, "where are we? What do you call the name of this cheerful hole you live in?"

The old man threw back his head and replied:

"It has no name; it is a cave. Why do you keep asking me about names?"

"Well," said Jack, "I will not do so any more. Let's be bright and merry. I want something to eat. Give me some food."

"Not in this place," was the answer. "You must wait till to morrow; to-morrow you will be well, then you can go outside and eat."

"I am afraid that you are not very hospitable," said the young man.

The Maori answered him:

"Want of hospitality is not a Bin of my people; what we have we give, and that freely. I am a chief and a priest—I could not carry food for you. And if another brought cooked food into this place I could not enter it again. The sacredness of my head would be defiled. My food is eaten under the open sky, as the food of the chiefs, my fathers, has always been eaten."

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"Could you not come in here if food was here?" said Jack. "What do you want to come to such a place at all for?" Then he said to himself, "By Jove, it is a place, this; I hope I shall never see it again.

The old man remained awhile without speaking, evidently pondering over his reply. At last he said slowly:

"I came here because I was sent here, and I stay here because close by is the place wherein my duty lies, the Humming-House (Te Whare Tamumu)."

"Why 'humming'?" said Jack.

"Because of the buzzing and whirr of the sounds within," answered Maru.

"What makes the sound?"

"All the little voices of the many winged-ones— tiny creatures that dwell in the house. They are like the flies that have come with your people to this land, and which have been shown to me. Those flies that hum among flowers and gather sweetness, which they take to their nests."

"So," said Jack, "you have bees and honey. The Whare-Tamumu is a big hive."

The old man crept to his feet and said solemnly:

"The Whare--Tamumu is the temple of Tamumu, 'the god that hums,' and it is full of his servants. They do not make honey. The food they prepare is for the lips of those prepared and ready. They are producing the Wine of the New Birth."

Jack sank back upon his couch, half vexed and half amused, but with a feeling of awe, nevertheless, as he looked at the fiery eyes glowing in the shadows under the snowy fringes of the great eyebrows.

"Very mad, indeed; quite hopeless," he said to himself.

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The old man resumed his slow speech. "They are creatures of Those that sit in the Heavens; you and I are also their servants. Do yon not know by whom and for what purpose you were brought to me?"

"No," said Jack; "you said I was brought to be healed of my wound, but you haven't told me who brought me here. I could not have flown here by myself, and the delicate girl who was with me certainly could not have carried me. Neither would she have brought me to you, for I don't think she had ever heard of you. As to the cause, of course it was the sting of that cursed fish."

"The fish, you child of the sea-god, was but a messenger—as I am. Do you not understand? Have you had no warning? I thought that the Chosen One would have come with eyes which could see through the bodies of men, and would have been able with a glance to divide the shadow from the substance. See, then!" and he raised his hand and made a sudden sign.

Like lightning there ran along the links of the young man's memory thoughts which brought to his consciousness the message given to him by his Brahmin friend. He was to be "led" by unseen hands, and guided without knowing whither. He raised himself on his narrow bed full of the old eagerness, but was waved back by Maru.

"Are you the Master?" whispered Jack. Will you initiate me and show me the path to the higher powers that await the fearless seeker? I entreat you to let me be your pupil—your slave if you will. Only reveal the secret to me at last. Now! Let us begin at once." The old man smiled sadly, and said, "You have waited long; I have waited more years than you have page 44days. Your wound is not healed; to-night it is dangerous for you to move. To-morrow you will be well—tomorrow you shall have the secret. Drink this and sleep."

Jack took the carved cup held out to him and drank the contents, making a grimace at the taste of the pungent, oily liquor. "What time is it?" he said. "Is it night or day? Will it soon be to-morrow?"

"It is night," was the answer "but to-morrow is very near."

The old man went back to his crouched posture under the lamp, and Jack resumed his former supine position. At first his mind was in a tumult, a tossing sea of doubt and hope and expectation, but he could not shut his eyes or turn them away from that stooping figure dull and dark against the whiteness of the limestone walls. Then his fancy began to waver backwards on old lines of memory—back from the scene on the beach to pleasant hours of courtship and dalliance. Back to mysterious Ponapé and the struggle among the cyclopean stones, back to yachting voyages over sunny seas, and many games of football and cricket on school holidays. Then forward again ran his thoughts, to Nelly, and as he lingered lovingly on the pictured beauty of her delicate face, the sweet eyes of spring looking into his grew dim, and faded out like stars in the night of sleep.

Then the old priest arose and came to the side of the couch, watching to see if the strong narcotic had done its work. Satisfied at last, he turned away and tottered to the side of the cave, where in some recess behind the stalactites he groped and drew forth what looked like a small black flask. It was a dried bladder of the sea-kelp, often used by the natives for the purpose of holding liquids. Crooning some incantation, he moved page 45forward and bent above the sleeping youth. Reverently and with a deep solemnity he touched with his fingers the mark upon Jack's forehead, and then uncovered the wound upon his leg.

"The Wine of the New Birth," he muttered to himself; "the wine of great Tamumu, the humming-god —himself the servant of the Mighty One. Sleep! Child of the fairy people, sleep long and well.

So saying, he poured into the wound a black, slow-dripping liquid, which sank into the flesh and disappeared like water upon arid ground. It was the venom of the mason bee, the deadly poison of paralysis.

"The winged creatures of Tané have done their work," said the priest. "I, too, have finished mine; and as I said to the Chosen One, the day is very near."

So saying he extinguished the lamp, and left the cave in total darkness.