wed his
brow, but by sheer will power he contrived to say--

"You must be mad to even dream of such a thing. Don't you understand
what it means to you--and to me? It is a ruse to trap us. They are
ungoverned savages. Once they had you in their power they would laugh
at a promise made to me."

"You may be mistaken. They must have some sense of fair dealing. Even
assuming that such was their intention, they may depart from it. They
have already lost a great many men. Their chief, having gained his main
object, might not be able to persuade them to take further risks. I
will make it a part of the bargain that they first supply you with
plenty of water. Then you, unaided, could keep them at bay for many
days. We lose nothing; we can gain a great deal by endeavoring to
pacify them."

"Iris!" he gasped, "what are you saying?"

The unexpected sound of her name on his lips almost unnerved her. But
no martyr ever went to the stake with more settled purpose than this
pure woman, resolved to immolate herself for the sake of the man she
loved. He had dared all for her, faced death in many shapes. Now it was
her turn. Her eyes were lit with a seraphic fire, her sweet face
resigned as that of an angel.

"I have thought it out," she murmured, gazing at him steadily, yet
scarce seeing him. "It is worth trying as a last expedient. We are
abandoned by all, save the Lord; and it does not appear to be His holy
will to help us on earth. We can struggle on here until we die. Is that
right, when one of us may live?"

Her very candor had betrayed her. She would go away with these
monstrous captors, endure them, even flatter them, until she and they
were far removed from the island. And then--she would kill herself. In
her innocence she imagined that self-destruction, under such
circumstances, was a pardonable offence. She only gave a life to save a
life, and greater love than this is not known to God or man.

The sailor, in a tempest of wrath and wild emotion, had it in his mind
to compel her into reason, to shake her, as one shakes a wayward child.

He rose to his knees with this half-formed notion in his fevered brain.
Then he looked at her, and a mist seemed to shut her out from his
sight. Was she lost to him already? Was all that had gone before an
idle dream of joy and grief, a wizard's glimpse of mirrored happiness
and vague perils? Was Iris, the crystal-souled--thrown to him by the
storm-lashed waves--to be snatched away by so