mitted.

Suddenly she laughed out merrily. "My friend, a stranger pilgrimage the
world never knew. What is your name?"

"Lawrence," he said.

"Mine," she answered, "is Claire. Go a little to the left."

He turned slightly, and plodded through the sand.

CHAPTER II.

THE WATER OF LIFE.

Still exhausted from his recent battle with the waves, Lawrence was not
in the best condition for this new struggle. Before he had gone far, he
was forced to rest. He lowered Claire to the ground carefully and
dropped beside her. His effort in carrying her had made him breathe
hard, the sun was beating down on them, and his throat was dry and
parched. Speaking was becoming difficult.

"If we don't find water soon, we're ended," he managed to say.

"I'm afraid we are," she admitted. "Do you know, Lawrence, you shouldn't
try to carry me. I weigh over a hundred and thirty pounds. That is too
much for any man. Without me, you might make it, even though you
couldn't travel so steadily ahead."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "I've thought of that. But, you see, I would have
to feel my way. At best I'd get a lot of falls. I might walk off a
precipice. That doesn't appeal to me, now that I've set myself to
winning."

"And yet you are almost certain to wear yourself out to no purpose if
you carry me," she repeated. "If you could do it and get me through, I'd
never stop you. I've a husband in America who loves me, and I want to
get back to him, but you aren't equal to it. I see no advantage in
dying a mile or ten miles inland. For one's grave, this is as good a
place as any."

She spoke of dying in a matter-of-fact way that made him feel strange,
though he thought of it in exactly the same way himself. He believed
that he was a mere animal and that death was a mere cessation of energy.
"I wonder if she feels just as I do about it," he pondered. "Perhaps
not. But it can't matter anyway. Here we are, and death does seem fairly
certain."

He was breathing more regularly now, though his throat burned and his
tongue stuck to his mouth disagreeably.

"We'd better be moving," he said, rising with an effort.

"As you please," she assented.

Then, as he lifted her: "My ankle is swollen dreadfully. If we could
find water, I'd bathe it and put a stick splint on it."

He did not answer. Silence fell between them while he plodded ahead.
They started up the mountainside, and the way became increasingly
difficult. There was a dense undergrow