The sailor, through long schooling, was prepared with an answer—­“Each day makes the prospect of escape brighter.  Though I was naturally disappointed this morning, I must state quite emphatically that our rescue may come any hour.”

Iris looked at him steadily.

“You wear a solemn face for one who speaks so cheerfully,” she said.

“You should not attach too great significance to appearances.  The owl, a very stupid bird, is noted for its philosophical expression.”

“Then we will strive to find wisdom in words.  Do you remember, Mr. Jenks, that soon after the wreck you told me we might have to remain here many months?”

“That was a pardonable exaggeration.”

“No, no.  It was the truth.  You are seeking now to buoy me up with false hope.  It is sixteen hundred miles from Hong Kong to Singapore, and half as much from Siam to Borneo.  The Sirdar might have been driven anywhere in the typhoon.  Didn’t you say so, Mr. Jenks?”

He wavered under this merciless cross-examination.

“I had no idea your memory was so good,” he said, weakly.

“Excellent, I assure you.  Moreover, during our forty-four days together, you have taught me to think.  Why do you adopt subterfuge with me?  We are partners in all else.  Why cannot I share your despair as well as your toil?”

She blazed out in sudden wrath, and he understood that she would not be denied the full extent of his secret fear.  He bowed reverently before her, as a mortal paying homage to an angry goddess.

“I can only admit that you are right,” he murmured.  “We must pray that God will direct our friends to this island.  Otherwise we may not be found for a year, as unhappily the fishermen who once came here now avoid the place.  They have been frightened by the contents of the hollow behind the cliff.  I am glad you have solved the difficulty unaided, Miss Deane.  I have striven at times to be coarse, even brutal, towards you, but my heart flinched from the task of telling you the possible period of your imprisonment.”

Then Iris, for the first time in many days, wept bitterly, and Jenks, blind to the true cause of her emotion, picked up a rifle to which, in spare moments, he had affixed a curious device, and walked slowly across Prospect Park towards the half-obliterated road leading to the Valley of Death.

The girl watched him disappear among the trees.  Through her tears shone a sorrowful little smile.

“He thinks only of me, never of himself,” she communed.  “If it pleases Providence to spare us from these savages, what does it matter to me how long we remain here?  I have never been so happy before in my life.  I fear I never will be again.  If it were not for my father’s terrible anxiety I would not have a care in the world.  I only wish to get away, so that one brave soul at least may be rid of needless tortures.  All his worry is on my account, none on his own.”