Mapuhi's face was a ghastly yellow. He clung weakly to his wife.     

       “Good woman,” he said in faltering tones, striving to disguise his vice,       “I know your son well. He is living on the east side of the lagoon.”      

       From without came the sound of a sigh. Mapuhi began to feel elated. He had fooled the ghost.     

       “But where do you come from, old woman?” he asked.     

       “From the sea,” was the dejected answer.     

       “I knew it! I knew it!” screamed Tefara, rocking to and fro.     

       “Since when has Tefara bedded in a strange house?” came Nauri's voice through the matting.     

       Mapuhi looked fear and reproach at his wife. It was her voice that had betrayed them.     

       “And since when has Mapuhi, my son, denied his old mother?” the voice went on.     

       “No, no, I have not—Mapuhi has not denied you,” he cried. “I am not Mapuhi. He is on the east end of the lagoon, I tell you.”      

       Ngakura sat up in bed and began to cry. The matting started to shake.     

       “What are you doing?” Mapuhi demanded.     

       “I am coming in,” said the voice of Nauri.     

       One end of the matting lifted. Tefara tried to dive under the blankets, but Mapuhi held on to her. He had to hold on to something. Together, struggling with each other, with shivering bodies and chattering teeth, they gazed with protruding eyes at the lifting mat. They saw Nauri, dripping with sea water, without her ahu, creep in. They rolled over backward from her and fought for Ngakura's blanket with which to cover their heads.     

       “You might give your old mother a drink of water,” the ghost said plaintively.     

       “Give her a drink of water,” Tefara commanded in a shaking voice.     

       “Give her a drink of water,” Mapuhi passed on the command to Ngakura.     

       And together they kicked out Ngakura from under the blanket. A 

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