disappeared from a cave in which she kept a store of
meat for our use, and she showed me where the rocks in front of this
cave had been scraped of seaweed and mussel-shells as though by the
passage of some cumbersome body. But I gave no heed to her anxieties,
and although she urged me to shift our camp I would not leave the
beacon lest a ship might pass during my absence.

Of the dreadful consequences which followed my selfishness it now only
remains for me to tell.

CHAPTER IV

THE SEA SPIDER

I was occupied one midday, as usual, scanning the horizon from the top
of the cliff near the beacon in search of a passing vessel, when I
noticed Moira urging her canoe toward the shore at a rapid pace. In the
wake of the canoe a disturbance of the water betokened the presence of
some denizen of the deep, and Moira's action in making for the rocks at
top speed betrayed her terror of whatever it was that followed her.
Hastily descending the cliff I ran to her assistance, when I saw Moira
spring on to a flat rock upon which she generally landed from her
canoe. At the same moment a snaky tentacle rose out of the sea and
caught her, while other tentacles quickly enveloped her. The monster
now dragged its shiny bulk upon the rock, and except in a nightmare
surely no man had beheld such a creature before. It resembled a
monstrous spider, but out of all proportion to anything in Nature. Its
eyes, like white saucers with jet black centres, stared from its flat
head, and the tentacles with which it seized its prey were provided
with suckers to hold what they fastened upon.

Even in her extremity Moira thought more of my safety than her own. "Go
back!" she cried. "You cannot help me. The sea devil has the strength
of ten men."

Not heeding her warning I continued to advance to her assistance but as
I approached the sea-spider drew back into its native element, and
presently sank with its prey beneath the waves.

In my first feeling of dismay for what had happened, I could not
believe that Moira had been taken from me, and as I remembered my
ingratitude to her and thought of how surly I had become, absorbed in
my own trouble, I threw myself down upon the rocks in an agony of
remorse. Alas, poor Moira! Faithful friend! True heart, and loyal to
death! A thousand times I reproached myself with my neglect of her,
but my regrets were unavailing, and my repentance came too late.

It now became necessary if I would live to provide