"I had a reason, a good one," she replied; "I did not hear about it till we were half way, or I should most certainly never have come this route at all. Did you observe a Maori woman come up for a few minutes, speak to Warwick, and go away?"
"Yes. I thought she might have some connection with the bearers. I hardly knew whether she stayed with them or disappeared. Did she bring a message?"
"Yes, and a most important one, too. That's why I pushed on at such a rate. If we had been nearer home, I should have returned; but the retreat would have been more dangerous than an advance."
"How can that be?"
"That woman ran twenty miles to warn me that Taratoa was out with a taua—a war expedition. She said the natives believed that the war was all but declared. Now, as Warwick will tell you, this Taratoa is one of the most turbulent and bloodthirsty chiefs of his ruthless tribe; and that is saying a good deal. He might—I don't say that he would, but it is quite possible—think it a fine chance of increasing his mana by killing the first pakeha, which would mean the mataika in the war—a most coveted distinction."
"What a ruffian! But 'dans la guerre c'est la guerre.' Pardon me for quoting the French proverb."
"Mais, monsieur, je le comprend parfaitement," she returned for answer, with a mock obeisance. "You must remember that there are here French as well as English colonists. And besides, I spent a year at Akaroa long ago, which, as all the world knows—the New Zealand world, I mean—was at one time a French settlement."
Massinger bowed with all the grace he could muster, and apologized for thinking it impossible that a New Zealand girl was conversant with French. "You remind me," he said, "of the Admiral in 'Singleton Fontenoy,' a naval novel of a later day than good old Captain Marryat. He asks one of the middies, when before Acre, if he spoke Turkish.
"'No, sir. Oh no! what made you think so?'"