“As you wish, Miss Deane,” he said.  “The fact remains that I have many things to attend to, and we really must eat something.”

“What can we eat?”

“Let us find out,” he replied, scanning the nearest trees with keen scrutiny.

They plodded together through the sand in silence.  Physically, they were a superb couple, but in raiment they resembled scarecrows.  Both, of course, were bare-headed.  The sailor’s jersey and trousers were old and torn, and the sea-water still soughed loudly in his heavy boots with each step.

But Iris was in a deplorable plight.  Her hair fell in a great wave of golden brown strands over her neck and shoulders.  Every hairpin had vanished, but with a few dexterous twists she coiled the flying tresses into a loose knot.  Her beautiful muslin dress was rent and draggled.  It was drying rapidly under the ever-increasing power of the sun, and she surreptitiously endeavored to complete the fastening of the open portion about her neck.  Other details must be left until a more favorable opportunity.

She recalled the strange sight that first met her eyes when she recovered consciousness.

“You hurt your finger,” she said abruptly.  “Let me see it.”

They had reached the shelter of the trees, pleasantly grateful now, so powerful are tropical sunbeams at even an early hour.

He held out his right hand without looking at her.  Indeed, his eyes had been studiously averted during the past few minutes.  Her womanly feelings were aroused by the condition of the ragged wound.

“Oh, you poor fellow,” she said.  “How awful it must be!  How did it happen?  Let me tie it up.”

“It is not so bad now,” he said.  “It has been well soaked in salt water, you know.  I think the nail was torn off when we—­when a piece of wreckage miraculously turned up beneath us.”

Iris shredded a strip from her dress.  She bound the finger with deft tenderness.

“Thank you,” he said simply.  Then he gave a glad shout.  “By Jove!  Miss Deane, we are in luck’s way.  There is a fine plantain tree.”

The pangs of hunger could not be resisted.  Although the fruit was hardly ripe they tore at the great bunches and ate ravenously.  Iris made no pretence in the matter, and the sailor was in worse plight, for he had been on duty continuously since four o’clock the previous afternoon.

At last their appetite was somewhat appeased, though plantains might not appeal to a gourmand as the solitary joint.

“Now,” decided Jenks, “you must rest here a little while, Miss Deane.  I am going back to the beach.  You need not be afraid.  There are no animals to harm you, and I will not be far away.”

“What are you going to do on the beach?” she demanded.

“To rescue stores, for the most part.”

“May I not come with you—­I can be of some little service, surely?”

He answered slowly:  “Please oblige me by remaining here at present.  In less than an hour I will return, and then, perhaps, you will find plenty to do.”