As the dreadful scenes of the past afternoon came vividly back to him, the ghastly memories so distressed George that presently he became feverish, moving restlessly upon his litter, and reviewing in mild delirium the varied events of the voyage and its horrible conclusion. But ere long the tangled skein of thought knotted suddenly, and, soothed by the pure, fragrant air of the bush, the gentle, swinging motion, and the soft, monotonous chant of the bearers, he fell into a sound, refreshing sleep. Morning at length shot up over the tall pines which rose erect and towering without a branch for a hundred feet and more, and the litter was set down at the base of a gigantic tree-fern, whose bright green fronds spread tent-wise over the invalid, who still slept, unaware of the gentle hands which now, as at intervals during the march, renewed the cool dressings which had soothed his pain and calmed his shaken brain. But when George at last opened his eyes, a pretty Maori girl came running up, and with great solicitude inquired after his welfare. The young man thanked her and tried to rise, but fell back, giddy and confused, whereupon the girl renewed the dressings and warned him to lie still until breakfast was ready. He followed her sound advice, and, when he had eaten what he could of the food she presently served upon wooden platters, felt decidedly better. The Maoris had marched throughout the greater part of the night, and now they sprawled upon the soft green grass in restful attitudes, some of them asleep, others busily oiling the locks of the rifles and revolvers they had looted from the brig, while others again were breakfasting and chatting with a light-hearted gaiety which gave little suggestion of the bloody drama of the previous day. As his mind cleared George began to review his position. His weakness made it imperative that he should rest for the present, but he determined to escape as soon as possible, and, after communicating with his father--whose anxiety, he felt, must by this time be very great--hunt up Terence's regiment and enlist without attracting the notice of Colonel Cranstoun. Failing this last, he would join the Rangers--but first of all he must get away. Suddenly the maze of thought into which he had wandered took a new turn, for he remembered to have seen Te Karearea charging down upon him with levelled spear. Why, then, had the chief turned the point of the weapon aside? He was sorely puzzled to discover the reason. Of course he had no knowledge of the death of Te Pouri at the hands of the chief; but, even had he known of it, the mystery would only have deepened. His reflections were cut short by the arrival of Te Karearea himself, who saluted his prisoner in his customary courteous and dignified way, and sincerely hoped that none but the most trifling consequences would ensue from the injuries he had received.