Being in good condition, he soon recovered his physical powers.  He was outwardly little the worse for the encounter with the devil-fish.  The skin around his mouth was sore.  His waist and legs were bruised.  One sweep of the axe had cut clean through the bulging leather of his left boot without touching the flesh.  In a word, he was practically uninjured.

He had the doglike habit of shaking himself at the close of a fray.  He did so now when he stood up.  Iris showed clearer signs of the ordeal.  Her face was drawn and haggard, the pupils of her eyes dilated.  She was gazing into depths, illimitable, unexplored.  Compassion awoke at sight of her.

“Come,” said Jenks, gently.  “Let us get back to the island.”

He quietly resumed predominance, helping her over the rough pathway of the reef, almost lifting her when the difficulties were great.

He did not ask her how it happened that she came so speedily to his assistance.  Enough that she had done it, daring all for his sake.  She was weak and trembling.  With the acute vision of the soul she saw again, and yet again, the deadly malice of the octopus, the divine despair of the man.

Reaching the firm sand, she could walk alone.  She limped.  Instantly her companion’s blunted emotions quickened into life.  He caught her arm and said hoarsely—­

“Are you hurt in any way?”

The question brought her back from dreamland.  A waking nightmare was happily shattered into dim fragments.  She even strove to smile unconcernedly.

“It is nothing,” she murmured.  “I stumbled on the rocks.  There is no sprain.  Merely a blow, a bit of skin rubbed off, above my ankle.”

“Let me carry you.”

“The idea!  Carry me!  I will race you to the cave.”

It was no idle jest.  She wanted to run—­to get away from that inky blotch in the green water.

“You are sure it is a trifle?”

“Quite sure.  My stocking chafes a little; that is all.  See, I will show you.”

She stooped, and with the quick skill of woman, rolled down the stocking on her right leg.  Modestly daring, she stretched out her foot and slightly lifted her dress.  On the outer side of the tapering limb was an ugly bruise, scratched deeply by the coral.

He exhibited due surgical interest.  His manner, his words, became professional.

“We will soon put that right,” he said.  “A strip off your muslin dress, soaked in brandy, will——­”

“Brandy!” she exclaimed.

“Yes; we have some, you know.  Brandy is a great tip for bruised wounds.  It can be applied both ways, inside and out.”

This was better.  They were steadily drifting back to the commonplace.  Whilst she stitched together some muslin strips he knocked the head off a bottle of brandy.  They each drank a small quantity, and the generous spirit brought color to their wan cheeks.  The sailor showed Iris how to fasten a bandage by twisting the muslin round the upper part of his boot.  For the first time she saw the cut made by the axe.