A Dyak, lying at the foot of one of the scaling ladders, and severely wounded by a shell splinter, witnessed their descent.  In his left hand he grasped a parang; his right arm was bandaged.  Though unable to rise, the vengeful pirate mustered his remaining strength to crawl towards the swaying ladder.  It was Taung S’Ali, inspired with the hate and venom of the dying snake.  Even yet he hoped to deal a mortal stroke at the man who had defied him and all his cut-throat band.  He might have succeeded, as Jenks was so taken up with Iris, were it not for the watchful eyes of Mir Jan.  The Mahommedan sprang at him with an oath, and gave him such a murderous whack with the butt of a rifle that the Dyak chief collapsed and breathed out his fierce spirit in a groan.

At the first glance Jenks did not recognize Taung S’Ali, owing to his change of costume.  Through the thinner smoke he could see several sailors running up.

“Look out, there!” he cried.  “There is a lady here.  If any Dyak moves, knock him on the head!”

But, with the passing of the chief, their last peril had gone.  The next instant they were standing on the firm ground, and a British naval lieutenant was saying eagerly—­

“We seem to have turned up in the nick of time.  Do you, by any chance, belong to the Sirdar?”

“We are the sole survivors,” answered the sailor.

“You two only?”

“Yes.  She struck on the north-west reef of this island during a typhoon.  This lady, Miss Iris Deane, and I were flung ashore—­”

“Miss Deane!  Can it be possible?  Let me congratulate you most heartily.  Sir Arthur Deane is on board the Orient at this moment.”

“The Orient!”

Iris was dazed.  The uniforms, the pleasant faces of the English sailors, the strange sensation of hearing familiar words in tones other than those of the man she loved, bewildered her.

“Yes,” explained the officer, with a sympathetic smile.  “That’s our ship, you know, in the offing there.”

It was all too wonderful to be quite understood yet.  She turned to Robert—­

“Do you hear?  They say my father is not far away.  Take me to him.”

[Illustration:  “WE ARE THE SOLE SURVIVORS,” ANSWERED THE SAILOR.]

“No need for that, miss,” interrupted a warrant officer.  “Here he is coming ashore.  He wanted to come with us, but the captain would not permit it, as there seemed to be some trouble ahead.”

Sure enough, even the girl’s swimming eyes could distinguish the grey-bearded civilian seated beside an officer in the stern-sheets of a small gig now threading a path through the broken reef beyond Turtle Beach.  In five minutes, father and daughter would meet.

Meanwhile the officer, intent on duty, addressed Jenks again.

“May I ask who you are?”

“My name is Anstruther—­Robert Anstruther.”

Iris, clinging to his arm, heard the reply.