"Then it is mine to dispose of," came the answer, in her low rich tones. "I die happy, since you are saved. If the bullet of Ngarara had found your breast instead of mine, I would have followed you to the spirit-land. You do not doubt that--oh, my darling--my own beloved! The sun would not have gone down before I should have commenced my journey to the reinga." "Erena," said Massinger, "have I ever doubted your love, true alike in life and the dark realm, to which we are hastening?" "Raise me," she said, "that I may see his face once more. My eyes are darkening. Oh, my beloved!"--and her soft voice faltered, and became hollow and inexpressibly mournful--"I have loved you with every fibre of my being, with every motion of my heart! The pakeha girl loves you also, though she cared not to own it, in her own land. She will live for you in the days that are to come--days of peace and happiness, now that the war is over. Would she die for you as I have done? Yes; for she is noble, she is true. She would have scorned to take your love from poor Erena, even had you offered it. Her soul lay open to me--and yours. You were true to your word. She was too proud to steal your heart from the poor Maori girl. And now, farewell--farewell for ever--oh, my loved one! I die happy. I have given my life for yours--what does a daughter of the Ngapuhi wish more?" She leaned forward and hid her head on the breast of her lover, while her long black tresses flowed over his pillow, as her arms strained him to that faithful bosom, still warm with the heart's purest feelings. Reverently the little group of spectators gazed on the dying girl. Sobs and lamentations came from the women of her own race, while tears flowed fast from the eyes of Mary Summers and Hypatia. Raising herself for a moment, she motioned to Hypatia to come nearer. Her dark eyes glowed with transient light as she kissed her hand; then laying it in that of Massinger, she whispered-- "He is yours now. May all happiness befall you! Yet forget not--oh! forget not--poor Erena." A deep sigh followed the last words. Her head fell back; the hand which Massinger and Hypatia held was pulseless. The faithful spirit of the nymph of the wood and stream, the fabled Oread of the old-world poets, had passed away. * * * * * The tragedy at Oropi, so nearly completed, might have been averted, but for an unlucky accidental circumstance, the occurrence of which embittered the remainder of Allister Mannering's life. And yet he could not wholly abandon himself to self-accusation and ceaseless regrets, inasmuch as he had quitted the trail on which, as the avenger of blood, he was pursuing the Hau-Hau band, in order to save the lives of innocent and helpless people.