Just then Terence caught sight of a solitary figure disappearing into the bush. He recognised the man as a _tutua_, or common fellow, named Sounding Sea, one of the meanest and least considered Maoris in the _pah_, whose sly face, destitute of scars, showed him either a coward, or singularly to have lacked opportunity to gain the right to heraldic distinctions. Just then, however, there was nothing out of the way in the fellow's behaviour, so Terence thought no more about him. 'It is still very early, and I vote for exploration,' he said to George. Then he drummed idly on the rail of the bridge, gazed down into the rushing stream and sighed. Presently he looked up at his friend and smiled rather wistfully. 'I was thinking. Bad habit; isn't it, old fellow? Come; make up your mind what to do.' 'Exploration be it,' agreed George. 'Let us look for the hole into which you so gallantly dived. Like Quintus Curtius, it may yet prove that you took that plunge for the good of your country.' He spoke lightly, knowing well what was passing in Terence's mind. By tacit consent they seldom referred to home or friends, finding the subject too painful. Terence had no near relations except his mother's sister, to whom he was devoted; but his affection for the Haughton circle was almost as deep as that of George, and the peppery colonel and his fine little brother-in-law held a very warm place in his heart. Many a silent prayer went up for their own preservation and for those they loved; for these two were brave and loyal lads, who had not learned to forget God, and were not ashamed to show that they maintained their trust in Him. They easily found the hill upon which the Hau-hau rites had been celebrated, but though they over and over again made it their base of operations, failure met them at each attempt to discover the entrance to the underground world. 'We shall never find it,' said George; 'for even in this short time the undergrowth has covered the mouth of the hole. We must try from the other end; but if we lose ourselves----' 'We can't--with this,' interposed Terence, holding up a small, but perfect compass, made by one of England's foremost opticians. 'I stole this from the stealers, who were examining the contents of a looted saddle-bag. The compass had fallen to the ground unnoticed, and, as my feet are adapted to cover much bigger things, I calmly stood over it until I got a chance to annex it.' 'Your petty larceny is condoned by the court,' laughed George. 'I wish you could put your foot upon a couple of good revolvers.' 'Don't move,' Terence said quickly. 'Look to your right--three or four hundred yards away--without appearing to do so. There is a Maori watching us.' George looked and laughed again. Apparently there were half a dozen Maoris, squatting upon the ground at irregular intervals, their long spears held erect, their mats hanging down so as to conceal their bodies.