Iris!  Not once since she was hurled ashore in his arms had Jenks so long forgotten her existence.  Should he tell her?  They were partners in everything appertaining to the island—­why keep this marvelous intelligence from her?

Yet was he tempted, not ignobly, but by reason of his love for her.  Once, years ago, when his arduous professional studies were distracted by a momentary infatuation for a fair face, a woman had proved fickle when tempted by greater wealth than he possessed.  For long he was a confirmed misogynist, to his great and lasting gain as a leader of men.  But with more equable judgment came a fixed resolution not to marry unless his prospective bride cared only for him and not for his position.  To a Staff Corps officer, even one with a small private income, this was no unattainable ideal.  Then he met with his debacle in the shame and agony of the court-martial.  Whilst his soul still quivered under the lash of that terrible downfall, Iris came into his life.  He knew not what might happen if they were rescued.  The time would quickly pass until the old order was resumed, she to go back to her position in society, he to become again a disgraced ex-officer, apparently working out a mere existence before the mast or handing plates in a saloon.

Would it not be a sweet defiance of adversity were he able, even under such conditions, to win her love, and then disclose to her the potentialities of the island?  Perchance he might fail.  Though rich as Croesus he would still be under the social ban meted out to a cashiered officer.  She was a girl who could command the gift of coronets.  With restoration to her father and home, gratitude to her preserver would assuredly remain, but, alas! love might vanish like a mirage.  Then he would act honorably.  Half of the stored wealth would be hers to do as she chose with it.

Yes, this was a possible alternative.  In case of accident to himself, and her ultimate escape, he must immediately write full details of his discovery, and entrust the document to her, to be opened only after his death or six months after their release.

The idea possessed him so thoroughly that he could brook no delay.  He searched for one of the note-books taken from the dead officers of the Sirdar, and scribbled the following letter: 

    “DEAR MISS DEANE: 

“Whether I am living or dead when you read these words, you will know that I love you.  Could I repeat that avowal a million times, in as many varied forms, I should find no better phrase to express the dream I have cherished since a happy fate permitted me to snatch you from death.  So I simply say, ‘I love you.’  I will continue to love you whilst life lasts, and it is my dearest hope that in the life beyond the grave I may still be able to voice my love for you.

“But perhaps I am not destined to be loved by you.  Therefore, in the event of my death before you leave the island, I wish to