'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.
'Let us go and find out if anything did happen,' he suggested as they rose from their meal; for he was oppressed by an uncomfortable feeling that trouble was in store for them. His presentiment presently grew stronger, for, as they walked towards the marae, or open courtyard of the pah, the unusual quiet of the long lanes surprised them, for the inhabitants were early astir as a rule.
The court itself was deserted, save for two old men, who sat upon a seat opposite to the open gates. George looked down upon the plain, where a company of women and children could be seen returning from the bush across the river. In anxious haste he turned to one of the old men.
'Where is everybody, O my father?' he inquired. 'Where is Te Karearea?'