“Perfect!” she cried, with genuine pleasure.  “You must make another for yourself.”  Whether he took it as a command or as a request matters not.  Suffice it to say, he soon produced another palm-leaf hat, and she tied it under his chin a great deal more deftly than he had performed the same service for her, consequently with a speed that disappointed him.

He decided to make a short tour of the wood during the afternoon.  At first he argued it would be wise to walk far down the coast, in the hope of finding a village of some description along the water front.  Then he decided that a trip to the north, through the wood, would be better, as the lower coast could be surveyed from the summit of the great rock.

“You are not afraid to stay here alone for a couple of hours, are you, Tennys?” he asked, discerning solicitude in her face.

“I am not afraid for myself, but for you.  You must be very careful, Hugh, and come back to me safely.  What can I do?  What shall I do if you never come back?” she cried.

“Nothing can happen to me—­nothing in the world.  See, it’s nearly one o’clock now.  I’ll be back by five.  And I’ll be careful, so do not be troubled.  We must find the way out of this wilderness.  Be brave and I’ll soon be with you again.”

He was soon in the depths of the forest, skirting the little bay toward the north.  She stood beside their stone festal board, watching him through uneasy eyes till he disappeared completely from view.  A sense of loneliness so overpowering that it almost crushed her fell upon this frail, tender woman as she stood there on the edge of the South Sea jungle, the boundless sea at her back.  The luxuries and joys of a life to which she had been accustomed came up in a great flash before her memory’s eye, almost maddening in their seductiveness.  She glanced at the dress she wore, and a faint, weary smile came to her eyes and lips.  Instead of the white, perfect yachting costume, she saw the wretched, shrunken, stained, shapeless garment that to her eyes would have looked appalling on the frame of a mendicant.  Her costly shoes, once small and exquisitely moulded to her aristocratic feet, were now soiled and ugly.

From the palace to the jungle!  From the wealth of fashion to the poverty of nature!  From the scores of titled admirers to the single brave American who shared life with her on the bleak rock, mourning for a love that might never be restored by the unkind depths.  A vision of yesterday and to-day!  Turning to the sea, she breathed a prayer for the salvation of Grace Vernon, her eyes dimming as she thought of the blithe, cheery girl who had become so dear to her, and who was all the world to Hugh Ridgeway.