The very fury of the external turmoil acted as a lullaby to the girl.  She was soon asleep, and the sailor was left to his thoughts.

Sleep he could not.  He smoked steadily, with a magnificent prodigality, for his small stock of tobacco was fast diminishing.  He ransacked his brains to discover some method of escape from this enchanted island, where fairies jostled with demons, and hours of utter happiness found their bane in moments of frightful peril.

Of course he ought to have killed those fellows who escaped.  Their sampan might have provided a last desperate expedient if other savages effected a landing.  Well, there was no use in being wise after the event, and, scheme as he might, he could devise no way to avoid disaster during the next attack.

This, he felt certain, would take place at night.  The Dyaks would land in force, rush the cave and hut, and overpower him by sheer numbers.  The fight, if fight there was, would be sharp, but decisive.  Perhaps, if he received some warning, Iris and he might retreat in the darkness to the cover of the trees.  A last stand could be made among the boulders on Summit Rock.  But of what avail to purchase their freedom until daylight?  And then——­

If ever man wrestled with desperate problem, Jenks wrought that night.  He smoked and pondered until the storm passed, and, with the changefulness of a poet’s muse, a full moon flooded the island in glorious radiance.  He rose, opened the door, and stood without, listening for a little while to the roaring of the surf and the crash of the broken coral swept from reef and shore by the backwash.

The petty strife of the elements was soothing to him.  “They are snarling like whipped dogs,” he said aloud.  “One might almost fancy her ladyship the Moon appearing on the scene as a Uranian Venus, cowing sea and storm by the majesty of her presence.”

Pleased with the conceit, he looked steadily at the brilliant luminary for some time.  Then his eyes were attracted by the strong lights thrown upon the rugged face of the precipice into which the cavern burrowed.  Unconsciously relieving his tired senses, he was idly wondering what trick of color Turner would have adopted to convey those sharp yet weirdly beautiful contrasts, when suddenly he uttered a startled exclamation.

“By Jove!” he murmured.  “I never noticed that before.”

The feature which so earnestly claimed his attention was a deep ledge, directly over the mouth of the cave, but some forty feet from the ground.  Behind it the wall of rock sloped darkly inwards, suggesting a recess extending by haphazard computation at least a couple of yards.  It occurred to him that perhaps the fault in the interior of the tunnel had its outcrop here, and the deodorizing influences of rain and sun had extended the weak point thus exposed in the bold panoply of stone.

He surveyed the ledge from different points of view.  It was quite inaccessible, and most difficult to estimate accurately from the ground level.  The sailor was a man of action.  He chose the nearest tall tree and began to climb.  He was not eight feet from the ground before several birds flew out from its leafy recesses, filling the air with shrill clucking.