“The tomb of Kara-Tete!” said Robert.
“Are you sure, Robert?” said Glenarvan.
“Yes, my Lord, it is the tomb; I recognize it.”
Robert was right. Fifty feet above, at the extreme peak of the mountain, freshly painted posts formed a small palisaded inclosure, and Glenarvan too was convinced that it was the chief’s burial place. The chances of their flight had led them to the crest of Maunganamu.
Glenarvan, followed by the rest, climbed to the foot of the tomb. A large opening, covered with mats, led into it. Glenarvan was about to invade the sanctity of the “oudoupa,” when he reeled backward.
“A savage!” said he.
“In the tomb?” inquired the Major.
“Yes, McNabbs.”
“No matter; go in.”
Glenarvan, the Major, Robert and John Mangles entered. There sat a Maori, wrapped in a large flax mat; the darkness of the “oudoupa” preventing them from distinguishing his features. He was very quiet, and was eating his breakfast quite coolly.