Slowly and painfully he raised himself to a sitting posture, for he was bruised and stiff.  With his first movement he became violently ill.  He had swallowed much salt water, and it was not until the spasm of sickness had passed that he thought of the girl.

She had slipped from his breast as he rose, and was lying, face downwards, in the sand.  The memory of much that had happened surged into his brain with horrifying suddenness.

“She cannot be dead,” he hoarsely murmured, feebly trying to lift her.  “Surely Providence would not desert her after such an escape.  What a weak beggar I must be to give in at the last moment.  I am sure she was living when we got ashore.  What on earth can I do to revive her?”

Forgetful of his own aching limbs in this newborn anxiety, he sank on one knee and gently pillowed Iris’s head and shoulders on the other.  Her eyes were closed, her lips and teeth firmly set—­a fact to which she undoubtedly owed her life, else she would have been suffocated—­and the pallor of her skin seemed to be that terrible bloodless hue which indicates death.  The stern lines in the man’s face relaxed, and something blurred his vision.  He was weak from exhaustion and want of food.  For the moment his emotions were easily aroused.

“Oh, it is pitiful,” he almost whimpered.  “It cannot be!”

With a gesture of despair he drew the sleeve of his thick jersey across his eyes to clear them from the gathering mist.  Then he tremblingly endeavored to open the neck of her dress and unclasp her corsets.  He had a vague notion that ladies in a fainting condition required such treatment, and he was desperately resolved to bring Iris Deane back to conscious existence if it were possible.  His task was rendered difficult by the waistband of her dress.  He slipped out a clasp-knife and opened the blade.

Not until then did he discover that the nail of the forefinger on his right hand had been torn out by the quick, probably during his endeavors to grasp the unsteady support which contributed so materially to his escape.  It still hung by a shred and hindered the free use of his hand.  Without any hesitation he seized the offending nail in his teeth and completed the surgical operation by a rapid jerk.

Bending to resume his task he was startled to find the girl’s eyes wide open and surveying him with shadowy alarm.  She was quite conscious, absurdly so in a sense, and had noticed his strange action.

“Thank God!” he cried hoarsely.  “You are alive.”

Her mind as yet could only work in a single groove.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered.

“Do what?”

“Bite your nail off!”

“It was in my way.  I wished to cut open your dress at the waist.  You were collapsed, almost dead, I thought, and I wanted to unfasten your corsets.”

Her color came back with remarkable rapidity.  From all the rich variety of the English tongue few words could have been selected of such restorative effect.