CHAPTER X

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The rest of that morning, Grace, to her intense relief, saw little of the man into whose abhorrent company she had been so strangely and unceremoniously thrown. Once the fire was well started Armitage had disappeared, leaving her in privacy to attend to her immediate needs. For this much consideration she felt grateful to him. But, after she had dried her clothes and had time to realize her terrible situation, she was overwhelmed by the hopeless horror of it. Her faculties well-nigh paralyzed, her nerves shattered almost to the point of total collapse, she sank down on a rock under the frowning cliffs, and, looking helplessly out over the vast and now peaceful sea, started to take mental stock of the extraordinary predicament in which she suddenly found herself.

Things had happened so quickly that she had no time for reflection. Bad as the situation had been before, it was ten times worse now. To think that she should be perched on a lonely island hundreds of miles from civilization, without any means of communicating with the outside world, alone with that man--and such a man!

Her heart sank as she remembered all the dreadful things she had heard about him on the ship. It was surely calamity enough to be shipwrecked and cast away on a stupid little island without food, shelter, or clothes, but how much more serious was the situation when the only other human being to be saved beside herself was the worst character on board. The first revelation of his identity was such a shock to her nervous system that she nearly swooned, her brain reeled, she thought she would go insane with terror.

She tried to calm herself. At the worst, she argued philosophically, he could only kill her and throw her body into the sea. Not that she could look forward to such a fate with equanimity. She gulped down a hysterical sob as she pictured her splendid form and tender young flesh providing a toothsome meal for some rapacious shark, and she wondered if the world--particularly her own set--would care when they read in the sensational Sunday papers all the horrible details of her dreadful end. Yet why, after all, should this man--this ogre--kill her? Her pearls didn't tempt him. Hadn't he scoffed at them just now? Then her face blanched and she dug her manicured nails deep into her skin as she thought of a worse fate than death that could overtake her. She had read and heard of such things--hadn't Professor Hanson, during their talks on shipboard, conceived this very situation?

She wondered how she could protect herself and what attitude she should adopt toward this man. An open rupture would never do; she must not even show distrust of him. Only she must be constantly on her guard. All these thoughts were rushing through her brain when it suddenly occurred to her that she was hungry. What was more natural? The last thing she had eaten was the plate of ice cream brought to her during the dance by Count von Hatzfeld. Since then nothing but sea water had passed her lips.

A feeling of faintness came over her, and soon her dread of Armitage gave her less anxiety than her speculations regarding the problem of procuring food. She was desperately hungry. Perhaps if she walked along the shore she could pick up some shell-fish--oysters, or perhaps some crabs. She thought pensively of the delicious crab meat _a la Newburg_, served in chafing-dish, which was one of the culinary delights of Sherry's delightful little after-the-theater suppers, and, closing her eyes, she gave a sigh of despair. Then, catching a glimpse of her water-stained, tattered gown, she could not help laughing in spite of her misery. The idea of her traipsing along the sands in a decollete ball-dress struck her as ludicrously incongruous. She must find something else to wear, but what?

She wondered where Armitage had gone and why he stayed so long away. Perhaps he would never come back. Then, surely, she would perish miserably alone. It needed a man's strength and resourcefulness to ensure an existence in such a wild, deserted spot. What could she, a frail woman, do alone to get food and devise some way of escape? Unconsciously, she already missed her companion. Without realizing it, she admitted his superiority in the new conditions the shipwreck had brought about.

Suddenly she heard a shout, and, turning quickly, she saw him coming along the beach carrying something in his hands. She advanced toward him, preserving a cold, indifferent exterior, but glad secretly that he had returned. After all, he was a human being, some one she could talk to. Had she alone been saved, to live alone on this island, she would have gone mad. As she watched him approach she wondered why she had not recognized him at first. It was the same tall, splendidly proportioned figure, the same dark, wavy hair, closely cropped, the same regular features, and bold, defiant toss of the head. Yes, she saw the reason why. His face was clean and white now, whereas on shipboard she had never seen it any other way than grimy and covered with coal-dust. The involuntary bath had effected a wonderful transformation. He was decidedly handsome. As he came along at a quick, swinging gait she wondered why such a fine fellow should have sunk so low as to be obliged to become a common stoker.

"I have your breakfast here!" he called out cheerily, as he came in earshot. "I guess you're ready for it."

She reddened, and stammered a confused reply.

"Here's some fresh water," he said, as he came up to her. Holding out a huge scallop-shell filled with water, he went on: "You can drink it safely. I've found a spring in the hills away yonder. It's clear as crystal."

Grace drank greedily, murmuring her thanks.

"It's delicious!" she gasped between gulps.

He gave a grunt of satisfaction.

"I picked up the shell along the beach," he said. "It doesn't make a bad drinking-cup. We'll find it useful. Mind you don't lose it."

Again that tone of command which had irritated her before. She looked up angrily, but he was paying no attention to her. Putting his hand in his pocket he brought out some mango fruit and offered it to her.

"Here's something you can break your fast with. There's plenty of it growing hereabouts. There are limes and cocoanuts, too, for the picking. When I get my tackle fixed, I shall be able to catch some fish."

He threw himself down on the sloping beach as though weary after the long exploring tour, and, picking up a splinter of wood, he started to draw lines on the sand.

Grace, busy eating, her white teeth biting hungrily into the luscious fruit, watched him without speaking. His abrupt manner intimidated her. She was afraid of him, and the realization of her own utter helplessness only served to make her more nervous. Finally, summoning up courage, she asked:

"What did you see--could you make out where we are?"

He looked up and nodded. Then, with his bit of wood, he began to draw in the soft sand a diagram of their position. Carelessly he said:

"We're on an island about ten miles long by about three miles wide. It seems to be of volcanic origin and uninhabited. The land is low and swampy in parts, with a lot of thick brushwood, but there's a big hill on which we can build a signal fire."

"What are our chances of being sighted and taken off?" she interrupted eagerly.

"Decidedly slim, I should say," was his laconic rejoinder.

Grace stopped eating, and a look of dismay overspread her face. He continued:

"You see we're far out of the regular steamship track. Not being down on the chart, navigators probably never heard of this island. Our only hope is in the whalers. These waters are full of whales, and whaling-vessels come here after them from all parts of the world. Some no doubt land here to replenish their supply of fresh water. Or a passing whaler may sight our fire."

"How long will we have to wait?" she demanded anxiously.

He shrugged his shoulders as if the length of their enforced sojourn on the island were a matter of no concern to him. Indifferently he replied:

"One can't tell. Three months--six months--a year!"

"A year!" gasped Grace. "How could I live here a year, or even six months--I should go mad."

He smiled grimly.

"Oh, we get accustomed to most anything when we have to. I wasn't overfond of the job I had on the ship, but I had to knuckle down to it all the same. We don't always get things the way we want them, do we?"

She ignored the rebuke, too much perturbed at the gloomy prospect he held out. Nor did she notice that this was the first allusion he had made to his work in the stoke-hold.

"Even a month would seem like a century," she went on almost hysterically. "Is there no possible way of reaching the mainland?"

He shook his head.

"The nearest land is a good eight hundred miles away. We have no boat--no compass----"

"Oh, what can we do? What can we do?" she wailed, pacing to and fro, swinging her hands.

"Make the best of it, I should say," he replied coolly. There was the suggestion of a smile hovering around his mouth, and his eyes were full on her as he added: "I'm in no particular hurry to get away myself."

She saw the covert smile and the boldness of his glance, and it aroused her resentment. Forgetting her caution she turned angrily on him.

"Of course, _you_ don't care. Why should you? You find there's plenty here to eat and nothing to do. That kind of life suits you better, no doubt, than having to earn a living by hard work. You've no friends who are mourning for you, no father or mother grieving over your supposed death. So long as you can enjoy creature comforts without paying for them, you are satisfied to stay here forever. But with me it's different. My life has not been like yours. You ought to realize that. What may seem like comfort and all that is necessary to you, is torture and starvation to me. You ought to be able to see that! You ought! You ought!"

She stopped, her face red from excitement, her bosom heaving, her voice choking with sobs.

Taken aback at the vehemence of her hysterical outburst, he simply looked at her, admiring her flashing, dark eyes, fascinated by her beauty. He did not care what she said, although she had spoken as a woman might to her lackey. Her words were stinging, her tone contemptuous. She had given him plainly to understand that she was fashioned of entirely different clay. When forced to it by circumstances she might, when thirsty, share his cup. She might, when hungry, accept part of his food, but aside from the satisfying of these elemental human desires, he and she had naught in common. He must understand that plainly.

"She's dead right," he said to himself. Socially they were separated by the widest gulf imaginable. Even with him to attend to her wants she would be as much alone on this island as if he were not there. A common stoker was hardly fit to breathe the same air as a girl who was heiress to millions, accustomed to all the refinements of wealth.

He looked at her for a moment in silence. His face flushed and his lips moved as if he were about to make some angry retort. With a visible effort he mastered himself, and, turning on his heel, he walked slowly away.

Grace's first impulse was to recall him. Only her pride prevented her running after him. Already she regretted her hasty words. She would have given almost anything to unsay them. She had not intended to be discourteous to this man. Whatever his character might be, however low he might be in the social scale, he had rendered her a service she could never repay. He had saved her life. Yet, thoughtlessly, needlessly, she had hurt his feelings. What utter folly it was to boast of her social position in her present predicament. She thought with bitterness how little her culture and education could help her now. Their situation was precarious enough without making matters worse by senseless bickerings.

Wearily she sank down on a rock, angry with herself, apprehensive of the consequences of her speech. She had had reason to fear him before; by her own foolishness the rupture was now definite. This new misunderstanding would certainly add to her discomfort and perhaps lessen her chances of escaping from this worst of horrors--a living death!

Looking out to sea, she strained her eyes in every direction in the hope of catching a glimpse of some vessel which to her would mean safety and home. The thick black smoke from the fire Armitage had started was still rising in a straight column to the sky. If there happened along a craft of any description their signal could not fail to be seen. But her tired eyes swept the horizon in vain. There was not a speck on the vast expanse of shimmering blue to give her the slightest encouragement. Her heart sank within her. All signs of the recent hurricane had disappeared. Once more Nature was in holiday garb. The ocean reflected the turquoise-blue of the cloudless heavens; the air, gently stirred by a balmy breeze, was fragrant with the odor of spices. There was no trace of the wreck or of the missing life-boats. The ocean had completely engulfed the steamship. What the fate of the other passengers, officers, and crew had been could only be matter of conjecture.

"God grant that they got safely away," she murmured fervently to herself. "Perhaps they will be picked up by some ship and then they may come in search of me--unless they come to the conclusion that I'm dead. I might just as well be dead as here."

She was still ravenously hungry. The little fruit she had eaten had not satisfied her and she did not know where to go to look for more. She wondered if she had made him so angry that he would entirely desert her and leave her to starve. With a shudder she thought of other terrors in store for her. What about the coming night?

The afternoon was rapidly advancing; before very long the sun would set and what then? How could she face the coming darkness alone with that man whom she had angered and with all the unknown terrors the island contained? Almost panic-stricken from sheer nervousness and anxiety, utterly discouraged and miserable, she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

Suddenly she heard a footstep, and, looking up, she saw Armitage approaching. He was making only slow progress, being weighted down with some heavy object.

"Here's a prize!" he shouted, as he came nearer.

Staggering up to near where she stood he set down a huge iron pot.

"I spied it lying among the drift along the shore," he went on. "It's a bit rusty, but that'll scrape off. It's worth its weight in gold to us. We've something to cook in now."

He spoke cheerily, with the utmost frankness. If he still nourished any resentment his manner did not betray it. In her present state of depression Grace would have welcomed the apparition of Satan himself. She made no attempt to conceal her joy at his return. Clapping her hands with childish enthusiasm, she cried:

"Oh, isn't it perfectly lovely!"

At home she had never been inside a kitchen. It is indeed doubtful if she knew what a culinary utensil looked like. Perhaps it had never occurred to her that the kettle and many other things as humble are all indispensable parts in our civilization. But now she understood. Necessity is a quick teacher and Grace was learning. The pot was an ordinary tripod affair, battered and rusty. Judging from its appearance, it had fallen overboard from some ship and had floated ashore. Otherwise it was sound and serviceable. She could see that its value to them was well-nigh inestimable.

"That's splendid--that's bully!" she repeated excitedly.

He enjoyed her enthusiasm. It was the first time he had seen her smile, and it looked good to him. He chuckled to himself as he said:

"But that isn't all. A pot with nothing to put in it isn't much use. I've brought you something good to eat."

Plunging his hand into the pot he brought out half a dozen live crabs and threw them at her feet.

"Aren't they beauties?" he exclaimed. "I'll bet they'll taste dandy, too. Look out! Mind they don't nip your fingers with their claws. They're pretty lively. They bite like the mischief."

Grace's mouth was already watering:

"What shall I do with them?" she asked helplessly.

"Cook 'em, of course," he replied, with a grin. "You get them ready while I go and fetch some water."

She listened in consternation, not liking to tell him she did not know how to cook. His women, of course, could work and do everything to help themselves. They could sew and make their own dresses. She felt ashamed of her own uselessness and was about to make confession when he hurried away. As he ran he turned and called out:

"You'd better take a shell and see if you can scrape off some of that rust inside the pot."

He disappeared, leaving her looking in dismay, first at the iron pot and then at the crabs, already striving to regain their liberty. She had not the slightest idea what to do. Her only knowledge of crabs was when their tender, white, flakelike meat was served in chafing-dish with delicious sherry sauce. How to accomplish the operation of transforming those crawling, dangerous-looking things into a toothsome dish she had not the slightest notion. Even if she did know, how could she touch the nasty things when they were raising their nippers so menacingly and already trying to scud away in the direction of their native habitat, the sea. The most she could do was to run after each wriggling deserter and with her foot turn him over on his back. As to the other order she had received--that was easy. She could scrape the pot with a shell. That was easy enough. Yet if she were busy on the pot the crabs would profit by it to slip away, and then they would have no supper at all. It was certainly a problem worthy of the Sphinx.

She was still trying to solve it when Armitage reappeared. In one hand he carried a gigantic cocoanut filled to the brim with sparkling, fresh water; with the other he was dragging along the sand a huge plant of unfamiliar aspect.

"Are you all ready?" he called out.

"No--I'm afraid not," she stammered confusedly.

Quick to guess the reason, he merely smiled.

"All right," he said pleasantly. "I'll fix it."

Carefully putting down the precious liquid, he seized hold of the iron pot, and, with a few strokes of his sheath-knife, soon had it in condition and on the fire. Over such fierce heat, the water did not take long to boil, and a few minutes later the obstreperous crustaceans were on the way to discharge their natural debt to two starving humans.

"What a feast we'll have!" exclaimed Grace, as she eagerly watched his preparations. "If only we had some bread to go with them."

"Here's something just as good," he replied quickly. Stooping down toward the plant he had just brought in he plucked some of the fruit--long, yellow pods with red speckles--and held them out to her.

"What is it?" she asked, in surprise. "I never saw fruit like that before."

"They are plantains--the potatoes of the tropics," he answered.

"They look like bananas," said Grace, starting to peel and eat one.

"Same family," he explained. As if surprised at her ignorance, he went on: "It is a wonderful fruit. It's meat, potatoes, and bread all in one. Its fiber one can use as thread, and its enormous leaves make warm clothing. When the fruit is powdered and baked you would hardly know it from rice. Speke, Stanley, and the other African explorers frequently mention plantains as the staple food of the natives. We're fortunate to find it here, and there seems to be an abundance."

Grace looked at him curiously. She was not aware that seamen were so well versed.

"What do you know about African explorers?" she demanded.

Her question seemed to amuse him, for he showed his teeth in a smile.

"Oh, I've read their books," he replied. "We sailormen pick up a good deal of information knocking about the world as we do."

She would have liked to question him further, curious to learn something of his history, but there was an air of reserve about him that gave her little encouragement. On reflection she thought it unwise to appear interested. He might misconstrue her motive. She had not forgotten the bad reputation he had borne on the steamer, and while there had been nothing in his behavior so far to give her cause for alarm, she must not forget that she was entirely alone on this island with a man of the lower classes, a man unaccustomed, probably, to self-control. She must discourage all familiarity, and never for a moment permit him to forget the broad social gulf which separated them. With these anxieties running through her mind she relapsed into silence. He seemed to notice the sudden change in her manner, for he looked up from the fire and said:

"I'll soon have it ready. Suppose you get two big, flat shells for plates. We'll have to use our fingers for forks."

As she went to carry out his suggestion, she said apologetically:

"You think of everything. I wish I could be of more assistance."

"Nonsense!" he answered. "Why was I saved from the wreck if not to look after you?"

She did not like this speech, savoring as it did of clumsy gallantry, so she made no rejoinder. By the time she had found the kind of shells suitable for plates, the crabs were cooked to a turn, and they immediately sat down in semi-reclining position to enjoy them.

It was a veritable feast of Lucullus served picnic-fashion in mid-ocean. To Grace it seemed that in all her life she had never tasted anything so delicious. The crabs were tender and sweet-flavored, and the plantains provided her with a new taste which improved on acquaintance. In spite of their thus sharing a common meal there was a certain restraint. Each seemed to be uncertain of and mistrust the other. They ate quickly and in silence, each preoccupied, Grace becoming more and more nervous as the shadows about her deepened, Armitage, silent, in admiring contemplation of his companion's shapely hands, her full bust and white neck, her beautiful eyes which, when they looked full into his, caused every nerve in his body to thrill.

By the time they had eaten the last scrap, the evening was well advanced. The sun had dipped below the watery horizon long ago, and it was getting dark very rapidly. Grace's growing nervousness became more and more apparent. He noticed it and suddenly broke the silence.

"Where will you sleep to-night?" he asked. "You're worn out after all you've gone through."

"Yes--I am very tired," she replied.

He rose, and, after throwing more wood on to the fire, he turned to her.

"I'll have to fix you up a bed in the cave the best way I can. I can get fern-leaves and long, cypress-haired moss in the woods. That'll make capital stuffing, and with a few plantain-leaves you'll have a mattress fit for a queen. It'll do for to-night. To-morrow we'll make you more comfortable."

Before she could murmur her gratitude he had hurried away in the direction of the woods.

Left alone, her nervousness increased. She wondered what he would do for a bed, if he would insist on sharing the shelter of the cave with her, or if he would prefer to sleep outside under the stars. She felt singularly apprehensive. A panicky feeling seized her. How could she spend all the lonely hours of the night in the terrifying darkness--alone with that man? She felt nervous and uneasy, as if some new peril threatened her. Certainly, she would not be able to close an eye. A night of mental torture was before her.

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