War to the Knife by Rolf Boldrewood

A few hours of soundest sleep sufficed for the guest's present needs. Looking through his casement, he beheld the sun just clearing the tops of the pines ere he summoned this secluded world to its occupations. Early as was the hour, Mannering was already dressed, and strolling through the garden with his matutinal pipe. The kainga was alive and busy; women hurrying to and fro, preparing the food for the day; children clustering around in expectation; the young people bathing in the river or launching their canoes. The hovering flock of sea-birds showed where a shoal of _kakahai_, at which they dashed from time to time, ruffled the surface of the water or leaped above it. All nature was responding to the day-god's summons, as a warmer glow suffused the sky and tipped the crown of the frowning dark-hued pah with gold. Massinger betook himself to the jetty at the foot of the garden, and, plunging into the clear cool depths, felt refreshed and strengthened for whatever the coming day might provide, returning after a lengthened swim just in time to dress for breakfast.

"I thought that you and my father would never leave off talking last night," said Erena, as she came into the hall, looking as fresh as the morn, which she not inappropriately typified. "You did not disturb me, for I slept soundly for hours, and when I awoke, thinking it was near morning, I heard your voices, or rather my father's."