ia: "I was sent to school
to learn them. Some I think good; some I think bad. Your marriage is
like the yoke you put on bullocks. It locks you tight together. Before
you know really whether you like each other you have this yoke put on
you: you are tied up for ever. The Maori way is better. We have our
marriage too--it is like the bridle on my horse, light, easy, but good.
We only put it on when we know that we like each other. That's the way I
wish to be married, and afterwards I would get your priest to give us
his marriage, so that I might be _tika_ in the eyes of the _Pakeha_
people."

As she spoke, her eyes flashed and her whole attitude was masterful, if
not defiant; her cheek coloured, her mouth quivered with excitement, her
gestures, as well as her speech, were full of animation. Evidently, she
was giving expression to the warmest feelings of her passionate nature.

Scarlett held a small _manuka_ stick, plucked from a flowering bush by
the wayside. With this he struck his leather legging repeatedly, as he
walked to and fro in agitation. Pausing by the river's brim, he gazed
into the rippling water.

"This is something like marriage by capture," he said, "but the tables
are turned on the man. The thing may be all right for you, but I should
lose caste. With all your tuition, Amiria, you don't understand _Pakeha_
ways. I could marry you, English fashion; but I haven't the least
intention of doing so."

The Maori girl had followed him, and as he gave his decision her arm was
linked through his.

The tethered horses were cropping the grass, regardless of their riders.
Scarlett, wrestling with the problem that confronted him, was still
gazing at the water.

But a sob recalled him to his duty. His companion's whole frame was
quivering with emotion, and, as he turned, his eyes were met by hers
steadfastly regarding him through their tears.

"You had better go home," he said. "The best place for you is the _pa_.
The best way for you to show your regard for me is to turn back."

She had shot her one bolt, and it had missed its mark. She turned her
head aside, and hid her face in her hands. Slowly and disconsolately,
she walked towards her horse, and unloosing him from the bush to which
he was tied, she climbed into the saddle.

Her whip had dropped on the grass. Picking it up, Scarlett took it to
her. She looked the picture of misery, and his heart began to melt. Her
right hand hung limply at her side, and as