“Then they know we are still here?”

“Either here or gone within a few hours.  In any case they will make a thorough search of the island at daybreak.”

“Will it be dawn soon?”

“Yes.  Are you tired?”

“A little cramped—­that is all.”

“Don’t think I am foolish—­can you manage to sleep?”

“Sleep!  With those men so near!”

“Yes.  We do not know how long they will remain.  We must keep up our strength.  Sleep, next to food and drink, is a prime necessity.”

“If it will please you, I will try,” she said, with such sweet readiness to obey his slightest wish that the wonder is he did not kiss her then and there.  By previous instruction she knew exactly what to do.  She crept quietly back until well ensconced in the niche widened and hollowed for her accommodation.  There, so secluded was she from the outer world of horror and peril, that the coarse voices beneath only reached her in a murmur.  Pulling one end of the tarpaulin over her, she stretched her weary limbs on a litter of twigs and leaves, commended herself and the man she loved to God’s keeping, and, wonderful though it may seem, was soon slumbering peacefully.

The statement may sound passing strange to civilized ears, accustomed only to the routine of daily life and not inured to danger and wild surroundings.  But the soldier who has snatched a hasty doze in the trenches, the sailor who has heard a fierce gale buffeting the walls of his frail ark, can appreciate the reason why Iris, weary and surfeited with excitement, would have slept were she certain that the next sunrise would mark her last hour on earth.

Jenks, too, composed himself for a brief rest.  He felt assured that there was not the remotest chance of their lofty perch being found out before daybreak, and the first faint streaks of dawn would awaken him.

These two, remote, abandoned, hopelessly environed by a savage enemy, closed their eyes contentedly and awaited that which the coming day should bring forth.

When the morning breeze swept over the ocean and the stars were beginning to pale before the pink glory flung broadcast through the sky by the yet invisible sun, the sailor was aroused by the quiet fluttering of a bird about to settle on the rock, but startled by the sight of him.

His faculties were at once on the alert, though he little realized the danger betokened by the bird’s rapid dart into the void.  Turning first to peer at Iris, he satisfied himself that she was still asleep.  Her lips were slightly parted in a smile; she might be dreaming of summer and England.  He noiselessly wormed his way to the verge of the rock and looked down through the grass-roots.

The Dyaks were already stirring.  Some were replenishing the fire, others were drawing water, cooking, eating, smoking long thin-stemmed pipes with absurdly small bowls, or oiling their limbs and weapons with impartial energy.  The chief yet lay stretched on the sand, but, when the first beams of the sun gilded the waters, a man stooped over the prostrate form and said something that caused the sleeper to rise stiffly, supporting himself on his uninjured arm.  They at once went off together towards Europa Point.