ever the call on every drop of true man’s blood in my perishing frame. It should not perish! It should not!
Yet my throat was parched; my lips were caked; my frame was hollow. Very weak I was already; without sustenance I should surely die. But as yet I was far enough from death, or I had done disdaining the means of life that all this time lay ready to my hand. A number of dead fowls imparted ballast to my little craft.
Yet I could not look at them in all these hours; or I could look, but that
hesitating. It was as though her disappointment had gained on her relief.
“Do you know what I thought you were going to say?”
“No, indeed.”
“Dare I tell you?”
“You can trust me.”
Her pale lips parted. Her great eyes shone. Another instant, and she had told me that which I would have given all but