ss. There's a big chest in the saloon that belongs to you."

She disappeared again, and when Jack next saw her, she was rolling a
huge barrel with difficulty towards the channel.

"It's a quarter-full of sand," she cried, "and when you stand it on its
end it is ballasted. You'll be able to come over quite dry."

Launching the cask, she pushed it before her as she swam, and soon
clambered up beside Scarlett.

"It's bunged, I see," said he.

"I did it with a piece of wood," said she.

Then, booted and spurred, Jack placed himself cross-legged on the cask,
and so was ferried across the intervening strip of water.

The main deck of the vessel was washed away, but the forecastle and poop
remained more or less intact. The ship, after settling on the rock, had
broken her back, and the great timbers, where the copper sheathing and
planks had been torn away, stood up like naked ribs supporting nothing.

Walking upon an accumulation of sand and debris, the Maori girl and Jack
passed from the hold to what was left of the main deck, and entered the
saloon. All the gilding and glory had departed. Here a cabin door lay
on the floor, there the remains of the mahogany table lay broken in a
corner. A great sea-chest, bearing Scarlett's name upon its side, stood
in the doorway that led to the captain's cabin. Full of sand, the box
looked devoid of worth and uninviting, but Scarlett, quickly taking a
piece of board, began to scoop out the sodden contents. As he stooped,
a ray of sunlight pierced the shattered poop-deck and illumined his
yellow hair. Attracted by the glitter, Amiria put out her hand and
stroked his head.

Jack looked up.

"Isn't that a bit familiar?" he asked.

Amiria laughed. "Not from the girl who saved you. If I hadn't pulled you
out of the water, it might seem a great thing to touch you, but I know
you so well that really it doesn't matter."

Jack buried his head in the chest. This relationship between preserver
and preserved was new to him: he hardly knew what to make of it. But the
humour of the situation dawned on him, and he laughed.

"By George, I'm at your mercy," he said, and, standing up, with his back
still towards her, he laughed again. "You've appropriated me, just as
your people appropriated the contents of this box and the rest of the
wreckage. You'll have to be put in charge of the police for a little
thief." And again his laugh rang through the ruined saloon.

Remarking that the girl made