stole across the water, turning it
cold. Wendy could no longer see to thread her needle, and when she
looked up, the lagoon that had always hitherto been such a laughing
place seemed formidable and unfriendly.

It was not, she knew, that night had come, but something as dark as
night had come. No, worse than that. It had not come, but it had sent
that shiver through the sea to say that it was coming. What was it?

There crowded upon her all the stories she had been told of Marooners'
Rock, so called because evil captains put sailors on it and leave them
there to drown. They drown when the tide rises, for then it is
submerged.

Of course she should have roused the children at once; not merely
because of the unknown that was stalking toward them, but because it was
no longer good for them to sleep on a rock grown chilly. But she was a
young mother and she did not know this; she thought you simply must
stick to your rule about half an hour after the midday meal. So, though
fear was upon her, and she longed to hear male voices, she would not
waken them. Even when she heard the sound of muffled oars, though her
heart was in her mouth, she did not waken them. She stood over them to
let them have their sleep out. Was it not brave of Wendy?

It was well for those boys then that there was one among them who could
sniff danger even in his sleep. Peter sprang erect, as wide awake at
once as a dog, and with one warning cry he roused the others.

He stood motionless, one hand to his ear.

'Pirates!' he cried. The others came closer to him. A strange smile was
playing about his face, and Wendy saw it and shuddered. While that smile
was on his face no one dared address him; all they could do was to stand
ready to obey. The order came sharp and incisive.

'Dive!'

There was a gleam of legs, and instantly the lagoon seemed deserted.
Marooners' Rock stood alone in the forbidding waters, as if it were
itself marooned.

The boat drew nearer. It was the pirate dinghy, with three figures in
her, Smee and Starkey, and the third a captive, no other than Tiger
Lily. Her hands and ankles were tied, and she knew what was to be her
fate. She was to be left on the rock to perish, an end to one of her
race more terrible than death by fire or torture, for is it not written
in the book of the tribe that there is no path through water to the
happy hunting-ground? Yet her face was impassive; she was the daughter
of a chief, she must die as a