by the unkind depths. A vision of yesterday
and to-day! Turning to the sea, she breathed a prayer for the salvation
of Grace Vernon, her eyes dimming as she thought of the blithe, cheery
girl who had become so dear to her, and who was all the world to
Hugh Ridgeway.

Her thoughts went then to Lord Huntingford, her husband. There was scant
regret in her heart over the fate of the old nobleman. She was not cruel
enough to rejoice, but there was a certain feeling of relief which she
could not quell, try as she would, in the belief that he had gone down
to death and a younger, nobler man spared. The last she saw of her
husband was when he broke past the officers and plunged out upon the
deck, leaving her to her fate. That he had been instantly swept
overboard she had no doubt. All she could remember of her thoughts at
that thrilling moment was the brief, womanly cry for mercy to his soul.
After that came the lurch which prostrated her, and then Ridgeway's cry,
"Be brave, dearest!"

Bitter tears streamed down her cheeks as she thought of the
strong-hearted Veath and the forsaken American girl--and all of the
others in that merry company. It was not in such anguish as this that
she summed up her individual loss.

Ridgeway was soon in the thick of the jungle. For two or three hours he
plunged through beautiful glades, over swelling knolls, across tiny
streams, but always through a waste of nature that, to all appearance,
had never been touched by a human being save himself.

At last he dropped wearily upon a grassy mound and resigned himself to
the conviction that they had been swept upon an absolutely unexplored,
perhaps undiscovered, portion of the globe. It did not occur to his
discouraged mind that he had covered less than five miles of what might
be a comparatively small piece of uninhabited land and that somewhere
not far distant lay the civilization for which he sought. His despairing
mind magnified the horrors of their position to such an extent that he
actually wondered how long it would be before death broke down their
feeble resistance. Arising despondently, he turned his steps in the
direction of the little cave.

It was not long before he reached a small sandy stretch about five
hundred yards from the spot where he had left Lady Tennys. Little waves
licked the short strip of sand lazily, seeming to invite him down to
meet them on their approach from the big sea whose tidings of woe they
bore. High, dark and