n the island for
more than a few days; the rough work which would be probably necessary
being somewhat destructive of woollen and linen garments. Jackson, with
whom he ventured a joke on the subject, did not receive it in very good
part. "You needn't talk as if we was to stay here for ever, Mr. Heron,
sir," he murmured. "But there's always cocoa-nut fibre, if the worst
comes to the worst."

"Ah, yes, cocoa-nut fibre," said Percival, turning his eyes to one of
the slim, straight stems of the palm trees. "I forgot that. I seem to
have walked straight into one of Jules Verne's books. Gad! I wish I
could walk out of it again. What a thrilling narrative I'll make of this
for the _Mail_ when I get home. If ever I do get home. Bah, it's no use
to talk of that."

These reflections were made under his breath, while Jackson walked on to
examine a nest of sea-birds' eggs; for Percival was wisely resolved
against showing a single sign of undue anxiety or depression of spirits,
lest it should re-act on the minds of those who had declared themselves
his followers. For the rest of the day the party worked hard at various
contrivances for their own welfare and comfort.

Firewood was collected; birds and fish caught for the evening meal. To
each member of the party a task was assigned: even Mackay could make
himself useful by watching the precious flame which must never be
suffered to go out. And thus the day wore on, and night came with its
purple stillness and its tropical wealth of stars.

The men sought shelter in the hut: Percival only, by his own choice,
remained outside until he thought that they were sleeping. He wanted to
be alone. He had banished reflection pretty successfully during the day;
but at night he knew that it would get the better of him. And he felt
that he must meet and master the thronging doubts and fears and regrets
that assailed him. Whatever happened he would not be sorry that he had
come. If he never saw Elizabeth's face again, he was sure that her
memories of him would be full of tenderness. What more did he want? And
yet he wanted more.

He found out what his heart desired before he laid himself down to sleep
amongst the men. He would have given a year of his life to know whether
Brian Luttrell was alive or dead. And he could not honestly say that he
wished Brian Luttrell to be alive.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

ON THE ROCAS REEF.

The morning light showed several articles on the shore which had b