Te Karearea'a face had grown hideous to behold. He rolled his eyes until they appeared to be turned inside out, he poked out his tongue until it nearly touched his chest, while bitter words came in labouring grunts, as he shook his crooked hands impotently in the air. At last by a mighty effort he controlled himself. 'But I knew that it would return,' he muttered. 'Yes; I was sure of it.' George, though utterly bewildered, was quick to see the advantage which the recovery of the club carried with it, and now rather regretted that he had so openly shown his astonishment. However, he was quite safe in that regard, for, not to put too fine a point upon it, Te Karearea regarded his disclaimer as a lie told for some personal reason, and the appearance of the _mere_ itself as evidence of strong magical powers on the part of Hortoni. He was intensely annoyed that, once having gained possession of the beautiful, mystic weapon, he should have lost it; but he had his game to play, and it was no part of it to quarrel with his prisoner. So he changed the subject, and, reverting to the question of parole, said: 'Give me your word again, Hortoni, and you shall go out and come in among us as though you were really one of ourselves.' 'I am obliged to you,' George returned sourly, not overpleased with the compliment, which smacked rather too strongly of the Pakeha-Maori. But he concluded to agree, since he could not hope to escape until he had regained his strength, and so replied: 'I give you my parole for one week. At the end of that time we will talk again.' And Te Karearea, perforce content with this, withdrew. Quite exhausted by all the excitement he had gone through, and knowing that his coveted greenstone was safe while the aroma of present magic clung to it, George lay down once more, and, after vainly trying to explain how that which he had seen falling into the sea should be found beneath his mats, once more forgot his puzzles and his troubles in sleep. He slept almost all round the clock, awaking next morning considerably later than the sun. The march had evidently been resumed during his long unconsciousness, and the litter was now set behind a boulder on the top of a small hill, below which dense bush spread out over a succession of smaller mounds to the valley. Food and water had been placed near him, but not a Maori could be seen. George, having breakfasted, felt much better, though still stiff and sore, and presently the unusual silence and absence of all signs of life struck him oddly, and he began to look about him. 'What can have become of all my rascals?' he wondered, and just then the silence was stirred by a long wailing cry, which rose and fell plaintively on the still air. 'A _weka_[1] calling to its mate,' thought George, as the melancholy note sounded again in the depths of the valley. [1] _Ocydromus australis_, the wood-hen.