'It is intolerable to think that our pretty Morning Star should be at the mercy of such an unscrupulous brute as the chief,' Terence exclaimed angrily, as they were discussing this question in their quarters one stormy night. 'We must search for her and Paeroa. We have been here nearly three weeks, and I think we might venture to begin.' 'Let us chance it,' agreed George. 'We will try the under----' 'Salutations, friends!' said Te Karearea, appearing in the doorway. 'I come to ask if you will renew your parole.' 'We cannot renew what we have not withdrawn,' George answered irritably. He was wondering how much the chief had heard. 'When we are tired of liberty we will tell you. There will be no need for you to come and ask us.' 'The Pakehas are abominably deceitful,' Te Karearea remarked absently. 'It is very difficult to know when they are telling the truth.' 'How dare you say such a thing to us?' George cried hotly; while Terence, when he understood, flushed and glared at the chief. 'There is a bad spirit in you to-night, Hortoni,' the Maori said smoothly. 'When you stopped me with angry words, I was about to say that neither you nor Mura would break your promises.' 'Oh, were you?' returned George, by no means appeased. 'Hear now my word, O Hawk of the Mountain, for it shall be the last. Until we tell you that we intend to take back our parole, we shall respect it.' 'Until you tell me--not Winata Pakaro or another?' queried the chief, darting glances at them. 'It is you to whom we are responsible,' answered George curtly. 'Then, until I hear with my own ears from your own mouths the words "We take back our parole," I may rest assured that you will make no attempt to escape?' went on Te Karearea, with curious persistence and a sharp anxiety of voice and manner which George noticed but did not understand. 'You may,' he replied loftily. 'And for the future do not come here with insults in your mouth.' 'It is well,' Te Karearea said suavely. 'Sleep soundly, my friends, and dream of peace.' After a grave inclination, he drew his mat around his shoulders and stalked out. 'What is at the back of all that, I wonder,' said Terence. 'It was like his impudence to talk as he did,' fumed George; 'but he does nothing without a reason. But I am too tired to solve conundrums. Let us go to bed.' Once or twice during the night Terence awoke and sat up, listening to the extraordinary clamour of wind and rain, in which, it seemed to him, a multitude of tongues spoke softly, and the faint pad-pad of naked feet made itself manifest. But the noise of the elements confused him, and it was not until breakfast-time next morning that he mentioned his fancies to George, who looked uncommonly grave as he listened.