rom the latter cause; and the rocks, sea,
pirates, all swam before me in a giddy circle, with only one clear
object standing out distinct upon the sands--imagination, of course, but
so real and plain before my dilated eyes, that I shuddered at its
reality--it was myself, lying in the baking sunshine, after the pirates
had overtaken me and passed on!

It was very curious in its reality, and so clear before me that I could
hardly believe it true, when the man who was coming toward us suddenly
stooped, picked up something, and then turned and went back to his
position in the line.

For I had not calculated in my excitement upon the deceptive nature of
the ground upon which we lay, with its large masses of rock and
scattered fragments of endless shapes, some partly screening, some
blending with our clothes as we lay motionless; and above all, upon the
fact that our presence there was not expected. Otherwise there might
have been quite another tale to tell.

Even when I knew that they were passing on, I hardly dared to draw my
breath, and lay still now, with my head pressed down sidewise in the
sand; till at last I could keep from breathing no longer, and the dry
sand flew at one great puff.

I lay trembling the next moment, fearing that the sound would bring the
bloodthirsty wretches back, hot and eager to hack to pieces the foreign
devil who had escaped from their clutches the day before; but the sound
of their voices grew more and more faint, till the last murmur died
away, and I raised my head slowly, an inch at a time, till I could gaze
along the strand.

There was nothing visible but the scattered rocks, sun-bleached sand,
and the dark, smooth surface over which the foaming water raced back
each time a glistening billow curved over and broke. And in proof that
the enemy were some distance away, I could see the pale-feathered,
white-breasted gulls passing here and there in search of food, while
able at any moment to spread their wings and escape.

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

OUR REFUGE.

"Oh deah me!" said Ching in his most squeaky tones, "I velly hungly.
You like nicee bleakfast, Mis' Hellick?"

"Don't speak to me as if I were a baby, Ching," I cried angrily.

"No; speak like to offlicer, Mr Hellick. You likee bleakfast--
something good eat?"

"I hadn't thought of it before, Ching," I said, feeling rather ashamed
of my angry tone; "but I am faint, and I suppose that is through being
hungry."

"Yes; Ch