The past few months had altered the lovely Kinau very much. Her features were shrunken and distorted; her hair torn and loose; her dark eyes, rolling and flashing, betokened the storm within; her heaving bosom gave proof of the agitated heart; but her step was firm, and she stood erect, as if, with the last effort of a shattered frame, she had determined to devote all her remaining strength to one great purpose. She was convinced that there remained no hope from human means for the restoration of her beloved Tuanoa, and she therefore determined to visit the enchanter Kelkuewa, a thing seldom or scarcely ever attempted before, even by the bravest of the erics. But Kinau, feeling strong in her virtuous cause, feared not, and dared destruction in its wildest forms. Kelkuewa, the enchanter, resided in a glen at the bottom of the Pelé of Nuanu, and near the entrance of which the enchanted waterfall of two thousand feet in descent finished its perpendicular career. Here was the supposed habitation of a lizard as large as a man, which the tradition of the islanders claims as having resided there since the Flood. Kinau, with firm determination, commenced her task. Passing alone, away from her friends and neighbors, over the dark plains in the valley of Menoa, she soon began to ascend the steep and rugged mountain of Nuanu, and, after excessive exertion, reached its summit. She cast her wild eyes around, and saw the dark ocean which encompasses Wauhoo; she could hear its distant roar as it broke with violence on the weather side of the island; the chilly and unruly blast of the night-wind almost forced her slender figure from the pointed rock on which she, for a moment, rested; her loose hair lashed her burning forehead with its violence. Behind her was the valley of Menoa, in which she had met the last look of her beloved Tuanoa; before her was the valley of Nuanu, four thousand feet in depth. Midway dashing its white foam, she could just observe the enchanted stream gushing out of a small division in the rocks, and falling two thousand feet into the valley below, at the bottom of which the enchanter resided. Still determined to visit him or die in the attempt, she began the fearful descent of the Pelé of Nuanu, and after great difficulties—now clinging to the branches of some friendly tree, and now sliding in various positions—she succeeded in reaching the source of the waterfall. Almost overcome with fatigue and contending emotions, she here rested. A torrent of tears relieved her aching heart, and she again commenced the arduous task of descending, by the side of the foaming stream, over slippery rocks and sharp craggy points, her feet torn and bleeding, her heart almost broken, and her weary frame nearly exhausted. Her disordered imagination, blinded by her tears, saw visions of darkness and despair hanging from every rock; and the murmuring of the trees, as they were moved by the wind, appeared like the voices of her foes