ateful after the chill of the stormy night. Directly he
had started the fire, he'd leave the girl to change her clothes and go
himself where he could take a rub-down and lay out his own things to
dry. Then he'd take a run along the coast and climb the cliff to see
what sort of a place this was they had landed on. He felt a sense of
relief that he was no longer subjected to the discipline and restraint
of the ship.

He chuckled to himself as his mind dwelt on the disaster that had
emancipated him. His taskmasters were no longer there to torment
him--all were drowned or gone away in the boats. Once more he was a free
man. At last he could raise his head. To the others the wreck had been
an overwhelming calamity! to him it meant salvation. No matter what the
future had in store, no matter what privations he must suffer on this
island--even if he must soon perish--anything was better than the
torture he had endured in that hellish stoke-hole.

In a way, he felt sorry for the girl. Evidently she was not used to
roughing it. It would be harder for her than for him. She seemed
inclined to be haughty, he thought. He had noticed the proud toss of her
head when he spoke about her attending to the fire. He smiled grimly.
She didn't like that. Well, that was the fault of her bringing up. How
could a girl, raised as she'd been, be expected to do anything useful?
Such girls were only the butterflies of life--of no particular use
except to look pretty. It wouldn't do her any harm to learn a thing or
two. Apart from that, she seemed all right. In fact, he was not sorry
she'd been saved to share his solitude. His hour had not come to die,
that was sure; otherwise he'd have been drowned with the rest. As long
as he had to be cast away on this barren islet it was as well that he
had a companion. Of course, she wouldn't be much use if it came to real
hardships--procuring food, fighting off attacks of animals or reptiles,
or building a boat to get away--but she was a beauty, a prize-winner, no
mistake about that. Again his eyes gleamed as his mind dwelt upon what
had been revealed to him in the cave--a torn dress, a white, soft neck,
a soaked dress showing limbs like sculptured marble, a curved mouth,
tempting enough to inflame a saint. Fast and furiously he worked,
strange thoughts crowding upon each other in his brain.

Soon he had gathered a big pile of driftwood, and had it all ready for
lighting. He rubbed his hands with satisfaction