“Muriel,” he cried, “I couldn’t.  I haven’t the heart.  I daren’t.”

Muriel rose and laid her hand solemnly on his arm.  “You will!” she answered, boldly.  “You can!  You must!  I know I can trust your promise for that.  This moment, if you like.  I would not shrink.  But you will never let me fall alive into the hands of those wretches.  Felix, from your hand I could stand anything.  I’m not afraid to die.  I love you too dearly.”

Felix held her white little wrist in his grasp and sobbed like a child.  Her very bravery and confidence seemed to unman him, utterly.

She looked at him once more.  “When?” she asked, quietly, but with lips as pale as death.

“In about four months from now,” Felix answered, endeavoring to be calm.

“And they will kill us both?”

“Yes, both.  I think so.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Muriel drew a deep sigh.

“Will you know the day beforehand?” she asked.

“Yes.  The Frenchman told me it.  He has known others killed in the self-same fashion.”

“Then, Felix—–­the night before it comes, you will promise me, will you?”

“Muriel, Muriel, I could never dare to kill you.”

She laid her hand soothingly on his.  She stroked him gently.  “You are a man,” she said, looking up into his eyes with confidence.  “I trust you.  I believe in you.  I know you will never let these savages hurt me....  Felix, in spite of everything, I’ve been happier since we came to this island together than ever I have been in my life before.  I’ve had my wish.  I didn’t want to miss in life the one thing that life has best worth giving.  I haven’t missed it now.  I know I haven’t; for I love you, and you love me.  After that, I can die, and die gladly.  If I die with you, that’s all I ask.  These seven or eight terrible weeks have made me feel somehow unnaturally calm.  When I came here first I lived all the time in an agony of terror.  I’ve got over the agony of terror now.  I’m quite resigned and happy.  All I ask is to be saved—­by you—­from the cruel hands of these hateful cannibals.”

Felix raised her white hand just once to his lips.  It was the first time he had ever ventured to kiss her.  He kissed it fervently.  She let it drop as if dead by her side.

“Now tell me all that happened,” she said.  “I’m strong enough to bear it.  I feel such a woman now—­so wise and calm.  These few weeks have made me grow from a girl into a woman all at once.  There’s nothing I daren’t hear, if you’ll tell me it, Felix.”

Felix took up her hand again and held it in his, as he narrated the whole story of his visit to the Frenchman.  When Muriel had heard it, she said once more, slowly, “I don’t think there’s any hope in all these wild plans of playing off superstition against superstition.  To my mind there are only two chances left for us now.  One is to concoct with the Frenchman some means of getting away by canoe from the island—­I’d rather trust the sea than the tender mercy of these dreadful people; the other is to keep a closer lookout than ever for the merest chance of a passing steamer.”