nt, utterly broken-hearted. Now she was filled with new hope.
There was a fresh motive in existence. Whether destined to live an hour
or half a century, she would never, never leave him, nor, of course,
could he ever, ever leave her. Some things were quite impossible--for
example, that they should part.

Jenks brought her a biscuit, a tin of meat, and that most doleful cup
of champagne.

"It is not exactly _frappe_," he said, handing her the insipid
beverage, "but, under other conditions, it is a wine almost worthy to
toast you in."

She fancied she had never before noticed what a charming smile he had.

"'Toast' is a peculiarly suitable word," she cried. "I am simply
frizzling. In these warm clothes----"

She stopped. For the first time since that prehistoric period when she
was "Miss Deane" and he "Mr. Jenks" she remembered the manner of her
garments.

"It is not the warm clothing you feel so much as the want of air,"
explained the sailor readily. "This tarpaulin has made the place very
stuffy, but we must put up with it until sundown. By the way, what is
that?"

A light tap on the tarred canvas directly over his head had caught his
ear. Iris, glad of the diversion, told him she had heard the noise
three or four times, but fancied it was caused by the occasional
rustling of the sheet on the uprights.

Jenks had not allowed his attention to wander altogether from external
events. Since the Dyaks' last escapade there was no sign of them in the
valley or on either beach. Not for trivial cause would they come again
within range of the Lee-Metfords.

They waited and listened silently. Another tap sounded on the tarpaulin
in a different place, and they both concurred in the belief that
something had darted in curved flight over the ledge and fallen on top
of their protecting shield.

"Let us see what the game is," exclaimed the sailor. He crept to the
back of the ledge and drew himself up until he could reach over the
sheet. He returned, carrying in his hand a couple of tiny arrows.

"There are no less than seven of these things sticking in the canvas,"
he said. "They don't look very terrible. I suppose that is what my
Indian friend meant by warning me against the trees on the right."

He did not tell Iris all the Mahommedan said. There was no need to
alarm her causelessly. Even whilst they examined the curious little
missile another flew up from the valley and lodged on the roof of their
shelter.

The sha