At last came a day, an eventful day in the lives of two of the characters in this short narrative, when they knelt before Mr Meadows, to listen to his quaint but earnest voice repeating those words addressed to all who, in God's name, are joined together; while, as they rose, it was for him to gaze at them with bent head and moistened eyes; and the words of fatherly benediction spoken were husky and low. "But these are no days for tears, my children," he said, at last; for, indeed, the time had glided swiftly away. And under the management of him who had just reaped the reward of his patient forbearance, the Moa's Nest, rebuilt, stood once more homelike and prosperous in the smiling valley, with the Gap, more golden and glorious, shining around rich in tokens of harvest, and the flocks and herds so carefully supervised by that stern-looking, tattooed chief, half savage, half-civilised man. For Wahika clung to Edward Murray, who, tempting the sea no more, had settled in the old pleasant vale, for the dread of so dire an invasion occurring a second time troubled him not; though for long years to come the story was told in the settlers' homes, through the length and breadth of the three islands, of the gallant defence, the cruel slaughter, and the brave way in which the prisoners had been rescued, and the invaders put to the rout, their ringleaders expiating their crimes at Port Caroline, the residue, few indeed, ending their career in Van Diemen's Land. Such is the old story--a story of fifty years since, but fresh yet in the memory of grey-haired men, who listen to the chime of the church-bell, and walk the streets of the busy port that now stands at the mouth of Golden Gap. But a few minutes' walk will take you to the farm at the foot of the mighty volcanic cliffs, clothed nearly to their icy tops with gorgeous verdure; and, as you gaze upon the scene of peace, the heart seems to say it is impossible that such deeds of violence could have occurred to blur the beauty of the verdant vale, till memory recalls in new settlements scores of scenes as tragical as that at the rifling of the Moa's Nest. STORY FOUR: VIOLETS IN THE SNOW. STORY FOUR, CHAPTER ONE. On one side there was a square, with trees that tried to look green in summer, but in winter time stuck in scraggy form out of the soot-peppered snow, with a beadle who wore a gold band round his hat and lived in a lodge, out of which he issued every morning with a thin rattan cane to keep away the boys; on the other side there was a row of goodly mansions, with a mews for the horses and carriages of the grandees who inhabited those mansions; and down between square and mansions, hidden behind the mews, as if it was a brick-and-mortar snake, there was Gutter-alley.