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They
had
reached
half-way
down
the
slope
,
when
a
voice
was
heard
from
the
opening
of
the
grotto
.
"
Stop
!
"
whispered
John
Mangles
.
Glenarvan
,
holding
with
one
hand
to
a
tuft
of
tetragonia
,
with
the
other
holding
his
wife
,
waited
with
breathless
anxiety
.
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Wilson
had
had
an
alarm
.
Having
heard
some
unusual
noise
outside
the
Ware-Atoua
,
he
went
back
into
the
hut
and
watched
the
Maories
from
behind
the
mat
.
At
a
sign
from
him
,
John
stopped
Glenarvan
.
One
of
the
warriors
on
guard
,
startled
by
an
unusual
sound
,
rose
and
drew
nearer
to
the
Ware-Atoua
.
He
stood
still
about
two
paces
from
the
hut
and
listened
with
his
head
bent
forward
.
He
remained
in
that
attitude
for
a
minute
that
seemed
an
hour
,
his
ear
intent
,
his
eye
peering
into
the
darkness
.
Then
shaking
his
head
like
one
who
sees
he
is
mistaken
,
he
went
back
to
his
companions
,
took
an
armful
of
dead
wood
,
and
threw
it
into
the
smouldering
fire
,
which
immediately
revived
.
His
face
was
lighted
up
by
the
flame
,
and
was
free
from
any
look
of
doubt
,
and
after
having
glanced
to
where
the
first
light
of
dawn
whitened
the
eastern
sky
,
stretched
himself
near
the
fire
to
warm
his
stiffened
limbs
.
"
All
's
well
!
"
whispered
Wilson
.
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John
signaled
to
Glenarvan
to
resume
his
descent
.
Glenarvan
let
himself
gently
down
the
slope
;
soon
Lady
Helena
and
he
landed
on
the
narrow
track
where
Robert
waited
for
them
.
The
rope
was
shaken
three
times
,
and
in
his
turn
John
Mangles
,
preceding
Mary
Grant
,
followed
in
the
dangerous
route
.