So he bent over the girl, noting with sudden wonder that, weak as she was, she had managed to refasten part of her bodice.

“You must permit me to carry you a little further inland,” he explained gently.

Without another word he lifted her in his arms, marveling somewhat at the strength which came of necessity, and bore her some little distance, until a sturdy rock, jutting out of the sand, offered shelter from the wind and protection from the sea and its revelations.

“I am so cold, and tired,” murmured Iris.  “Is there any water?  My throat hurts me.”

He pressed back the tangled hair from her forehead as he might soothe a child.

“Try to lie still for a very few minutes,” he said.

“You have not long to suffer.  I will return immediately.”

His own throat and palate were on fire owing to the brine, but he first hurried back to the edge of the lagoon.  There were fourteen bodies in all, three women and eleven men, four of the latter being Lascars.  The women were saloon passengers whom he did not know.  One of the men was the surgeon, another the first officer, a third Sir John Tozer.  The rest were passengers and members of the crew.  They were all dead; some had been peacefully drowned, others were fearfully mangled by the rocks.  Two of the Lascars, bearing signs of dreadful injuries, were lying on a cluster of low rocks overhanging the water.  The remainder rested on the sand.

The sailor exhibited no visible emotion whilst he conducted his sad scrutiny.  When he was assured that this silent company was beyond mortal help he at once strode away towards the nearest belt of trees.  He could not tell how long the search for water might be protracted, and there was pressing need for it.

When he reached the first clump of brushwood he uttered a delighted exclamation.  There, growing in prodigal luxuriance, was the beneficent pitcher-plant, whose large curled-up leaf, shaped like a teacup, not only holds a lasting quantity of rain-water, but mixes therewith its own palatable and natural juices.

With his knife he severed two of the leaves, swearing emphatically the while on account of his damaged finger, and hastened to Iris with the precious beverage.  She heard him and managed to raise herself on an elbow.

The poor girl’s eyes glistened at the prospect of relief.  Without a word of question or surprise she swallowed the contents of both leaves.

Then she found utterance.  “How odd it tastes!  What is it?” she inquired.

But the eagerness with which she quenched her thirst renewed his own momentarily forgotten torture.  His tongue seemed to swell.  He was absolutely unable to reply.

The water revived Iris like a magic draught.  Her quick intuition told her what had happened.

“You have had none yourself,” she cried.  “Go at once and get some.  And please bring me some more.”