growth. Its rugged face was dented with hollows that looked like the
homes of wild animals. There was a constant trickle of water on all
sides, an eerie whispering, remote but incessant. As she sat there in
growing panic, a great bat-like creature, immense and shadowy, swooped
soundlessly by her.

She shrank back with another cry, and found Nick Ratcliffe's arm
thrust protectingly about her.

"It's all right," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "You're not
frightened at flying-foxes, are you?"

Recalled to the fact of his presence, she turned sharply, and flung
his arm away as though it had been a snake. "Don't touch me!" she
gasped, passionate loathing in voice and gesture.

"Sorry," said Nick imperturbably. "I meant well."

He began to busy himself with a small bundle that lay upon the ground,
whistling softly between his teeth, and for a few seconds Muriel sat
and watched him. He was dressed in a flowing native garment, that
covered him from head to foot. Out of the heavy enveloping folds his
smooth, yellow face looked forth, sinister and terrible to her fevered
vision. He looked like some evil bird, she thought to herself.

Glancing down, she saw that she was likewise attired, save that
her head was bare. The hair hung wet on her forehead, and the water
dripped down her face. She put up her hand half-mechanically to wipe
the drops away. Her fear was mounting rapidly higher.