He required no second bidding.  After hastily gulping down the contents of several leaves he returned with a further supply.  Iris was now sitting up.  The sun had burst royally through the clouds, and her chilled limbs were gaining some degree of warmth and elasticity.

“What is it?” she repeated after another delicious draught.

“The leaf of the pitcher-plant.  Nature is not always cruel.  In an unusually generous mood she devised this method of storing water.”

Miss Deane reached out her hand for more.  Her troubled brain refused to wonder at such a reply from an ordinary seaman.  The sailor deliberately spilled the contents of a remaining leaf on the sand.

“No, madam,” he said, with an odd mixture of deference and firmness.  “No more at present.  I must first procure you some food.”

She looked up at him in momentary silence.

“The ship is lost?” she said after a pause.

“Yes, madam.”

“Are we the only people saved?”

“I fear so.”

“Is this a desert island?”

“I think not, madam.  It may, by chance, be temporarily uninhabited, but fishermen from China come to all these places to collect tortoise-shell and beche-de-mer.  I have seen no other living beings except ourselves; nevertheless, the islanders may live on the south side.”

Another pause.  Amidst the thrilling sensations of the moment Iris found herself idly speculating as to the meaning of beche-de-mer, and why this common sailor pronounced French so well.  Her thoughts reverted to the steamer.

“It surely cannot be possible that the Sirdar has gone to pieces—­a magnificent vessel of her size and strength?”

He answered quietly—­“It is too true, madam.  I suppose you hardly knew she struck, it happened so suddenly.  Afterwards, fortunately for you, you were unconscious.”

“How do you know?” she inquired quickly.  A flood of vivid recollection was pouring in upon her.

“I—­er—­well, I happened to be near you, madam, when the ship broke up, and we—­er—­drifted ashore together.”

She rose and faced him.  “I remember now,” she cried hysterically.  “You caught me as I was thrown into the corridor.  We fell into the sea when the vessel turned over.  You have saved my life.  Were it not for you I could not possibly have escaped.”

She gazed at him more earnestly, seeing that he blushed beneath the crust of salt and sand that covered his face.  “Why,” she went on with growing excitement, “you are the steward I noticed in the saloon yesterday.  How is it that you are now dressed as a sailor?”

He answered readily enough.  “There was an accident on board during the gale, madam.  I am a fair sailor but a poor steward, so I applied for a transfer.  As the crew were short-handed my offer was accepted.”

Iris was now looking at him intently.

“You saved my life,” she repeated slowly.  It seemed that this obvious fact needed to be indelibly established in her mind.  Indeed the girl was overwrought by all that she had gone through.  Only by degrees were her thoughts marshaling themselves with lucid coherence.  As yet, she recalled so many dramatic incidents that they failed to assume due proportion.