her hands in it.
She laughed joyously and splashed. For a few minutes she played like a
child. Then she remembered Lawrence.

Lifting her hands full of water, she threw it on his face. His mouth was
open, and a few drops fell upon his black tongue. She threw another
handful, then took her skirt and, wetting it, wrung it into his mouth.
He twisted over on his side and muttered: "Water."

She gave him more, and as he sat up, she said eagerly: "Here, Lawrence,
here."

Taking his hand, she pulled him toward the stream. He drank ravenously,
plunging his face and hands into the little line of water, making queer
noises over it.

Claire began to grow cold, and her ankle pained her till she shook like
a fevered person. He turned and sat up.

"You cold?" he managed to mutter.

She wanted to say "No," but her will was worn out. "Yes," she answered,
"very cold."

He laughed a little guttural laugh as he drew off his coat. "Take it,"
he said, dropping it near her hand.

She took the coat and drew it on. Lawrence was drinking again from the
stream. She listened to him for a time, as she lay there in the
darkness, then gradually her suffering and the strain under which she
had been, won the victory over her consciousness, and she heard no more.

He lay where he was, half unconscious. At last he began to feel the
chill of the place and drew himself up toward Claire. She did not move.
"We've got to do the best we can," he thought, and moved close to her so
that their bodies might warm each other.

CHAPTER III.

THE WAY OF THE PRIMITIVE.

Claire was the first to wake. She sat up and gazed around her. The
morning sun was just breaking through a heavy fog that had drifted in
from the ocean. Her clothes were damp, and she was chilled through,
while her swollen and discolored ankle throbbed with steady pain. She
looked down at the sleeping man beside her, and her forehead gathered in
a little thoughtful frown. Then she looked around her again. Despite the
knowledge of their desperate situation, she could not help noticing the
beauty of the scene.

Great trees grew in massive profusion all about them. Heavy tropical
moss hung from the branches and trailed its green mat over the stones.
Birds were beginning to sing, their notes breaking the silence of the
place in sharp thrills. Then she studied her companion. Finally, she
laughed aloud.

"Lawrence," she said gaily.

He turned and sat up, yawning drowsily. "What i