shield us from
those we came to watch, he worked a while with his hands, then
whispered: "Now lay down." Lo, the uncomfortable roots had been pressed
in other directions and the soft sand received my body. He remained,
however, long enough on his knees to make sure that none of the fronds
had been twisted out of line, else uncompromising daylight might show
our enemy that all here was not right.

The night remained very still and impenetrably black, though I think
that Smilax could see a little with his extraordinary catlike sight.
Then came a first sleepy bird note. The day, at last, was on the wing!

When from obscurity the saw-tooth stems took shape before my eyes and
the distance receded farther, I saw that we were near the edge of a
steep bank. Perhaps twelve feet below us lay the water, as a mirror on
which some one has breathed. A mist hung over it--and in that gossamer
shroud a little island floated whereon my Sylvia dwelt--where now she
slept.

A minute later the forest awoke with bird life; dawn came rapidly.
Islands took shape, trees stepped out from their obscurity and small
details drew into focus. First I sought her home and could hardly take
my eyes from it. Low and rambling, it stood two hundred feet away,
nestled in a most inviting shade of splendid trees. Flowers and climbing
vines were everywhere, touched with the rich coloring of poinsettia and
bougainvillea--although this very approach of day began to close the
fragrant moon-flowers and spelled death to the night-blooming cereus.
The walls of her bungalow seemed to be tinted red, varying to purple,
which gave a strange yet most pleasing effect in the setting of
blossoms. Not till later did I learn that this was the rare Cat's Claw
wood, nowhere to be found but in southern Florida.

On the larger island, not over a hundred feet from us, were perhaps ten
buildings of about the same size and plan, and presumably sleeping
quarters. But in their midst stood a structure of some pretensions that
we afterwards knew to be a dining hall. Quite off in the background were
two small bungalows whose air denoted quality, but the roof of one had
been fitted with a skylight which gave me the impression that here Efaw
Kotee worked his trade at counterfeiting. Still beyond this was a tower
rising above the low trees, perhaps intended for a lighthouse, although
there had been no light burning when we came. But these were at best
surmises that arranged themselves in