s nothing revolting in the
concluding portion of his task. He had a God-given right to live. It
was his paramount duty, remitted only by death itself, to endeavor to
save Iris from the indescribable fate from which no power could rescue
her if ever she fell into the hands of these vindictive savages.
Therefore it was war between him and them, war to the bitter end, war
with no humane mitigation of its horrors and penalties, the last dread
arbitrament of man forced to adopt the methods of the tiger.

His guess at the weather conditions heralded by the change of wind was
right. As the two partook of their evening meal the complaining surf
lashed the reef, and the tremulous branches of the taller trees voiced
the approach of a gale. A tropical storm, not a typhoon, but a belated
burst of the periodic rains, deluged the island before midnight. Hours
earlier Iris retired, utterly worn by the events of the day. Needless
to say, there was no singing that evening. The gale chanted a wild
melody in mournful chords, and the noise of the watery downpour on the
tarpaulin roof of Belle Vue Castle was such as to render conversation
impossible, save in wearying shouts.

Luckily, Jenks's carpentry was effective, though rough. The building
was water-tight, and he had calked every crevice with unraveled rope
until Iris's apartment was free from the tiniest draught.

The very fury of the external turmoil acted as a lullaby to the girl.
She was soon asleep, and the sailor was left to his thoughts.

Sleep he could not. He smoked steadily, with a magnificent prodigality,
for his small stock of tobacco was fast diminishing. He ransacked his
brains to discover some method of escape from this enchanted island,
where fairies jostled with demons, and hours of utter happiness found
their bane in moments of frightful peril.

Of course he ought to have killed those fellows who escaped. Their
sampan might have provided a last desperate expedient if other savages
effected a landing. Well, there was no use in being wise after the
event, and, scheme as he might, he could devise no way to avoid
disaster during the next attack.

This, he felt certain, would take place at night. The Dyaks would land
in force, rush the cave and hut, and overpower him by sheer numbers.
The fight, if fight there was, would be sharp, but decisive. Perhaps,
if he received some warning, Iris and he might retreat in the darkness
to the cover of the trees. A last stand could