he world of today--the world of telegraphs and
express trains, of the newspaper and the motor car--two inoffensive
human beings could be done to death so shamefully and openly as would
be the fate of Iris and himself if they fell into the hands of these
savages! It was inconceivable, intolerable! But it was true!

And then, by an odd trick of memory, his mind reverted, not to the
Yorkshire manor he learnt to love as a boy, but to a little French
inland town where he once passed a summer holiday intent on improving
his knowledge of the language. Interior France is even more remote,
more secluded, more provincial, than agricultural England. There no
breath of the outer world intrudes. All is laborious, circumspect, a
trifle poverty-stricken, but beautified by an Arcadian simplicity. Yet
one memorable day, when walking by the banks of a river, he came upon
three men dragging from out a pool the water-soaked body of a young
girl into whose fair forehead the blunt knob often seen on the back of
an old-fashioned axe had been driven with cruel force. So, even in that
tiny old-world hamlet, murder and lust could stalk hand in hand.

He shuddered. Why did such a hateful vision trouble him? Resolutely
banning the raven-winged specter, he slid back down the ledge and
gently wakened Iris. She sat up instantly and gazed at him with
wondering eyes.

Fearful lest she should forget her surroundings, he placed a warning
finger on his lips.

"Oh," she said in a whisper, "are they still here?"

He told her what had happened, and suggested that they should have
something to eat whilst the coast was clear beneath. She needed no
second bidding, for the long vigil of the previous night had made her
very hungry, and the two breakfasted right royally on biscuit, cold
fowl, ham, and good water.

In this, the inner section of their refuge, they could be seen only by
a bird or by a man standing on the distant rocky shelf that formed the
southern extremity of the opposite cliff, and the sailor kept a close
lookout in that direction.

Iris was about to throw the remains of the feast into an empty oil-tin
provided for refuse when Jenks restrained her.

"No," he said, smilingly. "Scraps should be the first course next time.
We must not waste an atom of food."

"How thoughtless of me!" she exclaimed. "Please tell me you think they
will go away today."

But the sailor flung himself flat on the ledge and grasped a
Lee-Metford.

"Be still,