“My poor fellow!” murmured Van der Kemp, as he went down on his knees to examine the limb.

“Don’ care a buttin for dat, massa.  You’re safe, an’ Nadgel’s safe—­an’ it only cost a broken leg!  Pooh! das nuffin’!” said Moses, unable to repress a few tears in the excess of his joy and pain!

With considerable difficulty they carried the poor negro down to the boat, where they found Winnie, as might be supposed, in a half-fainting condition from the strain of prolonged anxiety and terror to which she had been subjected; but the necessity of attending to the case of the injured Moses was an antidote which speedily restored her.

Do you think, good reader, that Nigel and Winnie had much difficulty in coming to an understanding after that, or that the hermit was disposed to throw any obstacles in the way of true love?  If you do, let us assure you that you are mistaken.  Surely this is information enough for any intelligent reader.

Still, it may be interesting to add, difficulties did not all at once disappear.  The perplexities that had already assailed Nigel more than once assailed him again—­perplexities about a negro man-servant, and a household monkey, and a hermit father-in-law, and a small income—­to say nothing of a disconsolate mother-poetess in England and a father roving on the high seas!  How to overcome these difficulties gave him much thought and trouble; but they were overcome at last.  That which seemed impossible to man proved to be child’s-play in the hands of woman.  Winnie solved the difficulty by suggesting that they should all return to the Cocos-Keeling Islands and dwell together there for evermore!

* * * * *

Let us drop in on them, good reader, at a later period, have a look at them, and bid them all good-bye.

On a green knoll by the margin of the lagoon stands a beautiful cottage with a garden around it, and a pleasure-boat resting on the white coral sand in front.  From the windows of that cottage there is a most magnificent view of the lagoon with its numerous islets and its picturesque palm-trees.  Within that cottage dwell Nigel and Winnie, and a brown-eyed, brown-haired, fair-skinned baby girl who is “the most extraordinary angel that ever was born.”  It has a nurse of its own, but is chiefly waited on and attended to by an antique poetess, who dwells in another cottage, a stone’s-cast off, on the same green knoll.  There she inspires an ancient mariner with poetical sentiments—­not your up-in-the-clouds, reef-point-pattering nonsense, observe; but the real genuine article, superior to “that other fellow’s,” you know—­when not actively engaged with the baby.

The first cottage is named Rakata, in honour of our hermit, who is one of its inhabitants.  The second is named Krakatoa by its eccentric owner, Captain Roy.

It must not be imagined, however, that our friends have settled down there to spend their lives in idleness.  By no means.  This probably would not be permitted by the “King of the Cocos Islands” even if they wished to do so.  But they do not wish that.  There is no such condition as idleness in the lives of good men and women.