was yet noon that he was benumbed, wholly incapable of
further sensation. Seneca tells how the island of Theresaea arose in a
moment from the sea, thereby astounding ancient mariners, as well it
might. Had this manifestation been repeated within a cable's length
from the reef, Jenks was in mood to accept it as befitting the new
order of things.

Being in good condition, he soon recovered his physical powers. He was
outwardly little the worse for the encounter with the devil-fish. The
skin around his mouth was sore. His waist and legs were bruised. One
sweep of the axe had cut clean through the bulging leather of his left
boot without touching the flesh. In a word, he was practically
uninjured.

He had the doglike habit of shaking himself at the close of a fray. He
did so now when he stood up. Iris showed clearer signs of the ordeal.
Her face was drawn and haggard, the pupils of her eyes dilated. She was
gazing into depths, illimitable, unexplored. Compassion awoke at sight
of her.

"Come," said Jenks, gently. "Let us get back to the island."

He quietly resumed predominance, helping her over the rough pathway of
the reef, almost lifting her when the difficulties were great.

He did not ask her how it happened that she came so speedily to his
assistance. Enough that she had done it, daring all for his sake. She
was weak and trembling. With the acute vision of the soul she saw
again, and yet again, the deadly malice of the octopus, the divine
despair of the man.

Reaching the firm sand, she could walk alone. She limped. Instantly her
companion's blunted emotions quickened into life. He caught her arm and
said hoarsely--

"Are you hurt in any way?"

The question brought her back from dreamland. A waking nightmare was
happily shattered into dim fragments. She even strove to smile
unconcernedly.

"It is nothing," she murmured. "I stumbled on the rocks. There is no
sprain. Merely a blow, a bit of skin rubbed off, above my ankle."

"Let me carry you."

"The idea! Carry me! I will race you to the cave."

It was no idle jest. She wanted to run--to get away from that inky
blotch in the green water.

"You are sure it is a trifle?"

"Quite sure. My stocking chafes a little; that is all. See, I will show
you."

She stooped, and with the quick skill of woman, rolled down the
stocking on her right leg. Modestly daring, she stretched out her foot
and slightly lifted her dress. On the outer side of the tapering lim