He did not care to acknowledge that he had been nearly outpaced by this young woman and her wildwood friends, but looking at her before he answered, he noticed a mirthful twinkle in her dark eyes, which convinced him that she comprehended fully the humour of the situation. "I am afraid you have been trying whether this pakeha can walk," he said, as she smiled archly. "Your country is not easy, and I am scarcely in training. But in a few days I will match myself against any of your people to run, jump, or walk for a wager." "You must not do that with these natives," said she, gravely. "You would lose your _mana_, as we say, if you, a _rangatira_ of the pakehas, engaged in contests of sport with the common people. However, some day you may have a chance of trying your speed against them. Warwick will tell you the same thing." "Between your instructions and his, I shall soon know everything that is necessary for my good." "Oh! he is very clever, and a _toa_ as well--that is, a known athlete or warrior. There has been no fighting since Heki's war in 1845, or he would have distinguished himself in that way, I feel sure." "And now, tell me, do _you_ think there is any danger of war breaking out, as some people think?" "There _will_ be war," replied the girl, fixing her eyes upon him with a sad and boding expression, "if the Governor takes the Waitara block by force. The chief thinks so too. He has remonstrated against it, though he will fight for your Queen to the death, and lead his tribe, the great tribe of the Ngapuhi, against her enemies." "It is a pity it cannot be avoided; but, after all, there are worse things than war." "If there are, I do not know them," said this Egeria of the South. "I have not seen a Maori war, but if you had heard the things I have heard you would never speak lightly of one of the most awful things in the world." "Then I hope there will _not_ be war," said Massinger, with a smile. "Personally, I suppose the sooner I get over to Rotorua and back to Auckland the better it will be. But whatever happens, I shall always thank the fates that sent me on this particular journey." "Then you are pleased, even now," she said. "Oh, I am so glad!" and coming nearer to him, she took both his hands in hers, and, with a gesture of childish simplicity, pressed them warmly, gazing into his face with a look of frank delight, as might a sister thanking a brother for a birthday gift. He had never met this type of womanhood before, and might have well been pardoned if he had misunderstood the feelings which appeared to actuate this woodland sylph. But possessing, as he did, a sympathetic insight into the higher nature of women, he judged correctly that she was merely pleased with his approval of her presence and companionship.