"Ethel Orne?"

"Yes."

"Don't think I ever heard the name before. Orne? No, I'm sure I
haven't. It isn't Horn?"

"No; Orne--O R N E. Oh, there's no trouble about that.

"Well, I rather enjoyed this island life, but she was awfully
melancholy; so I hit upon a plan for getting away. I went to the shore
and collected a lot of the deals that I mentioned, and made a very
decent sort of raft. I found a pole to guide it with, cut a lot of
brush for Ethel, and then we started, and floated down the river. We
didn't have any accidents. The only bother was that she was too
confoundedly anxious about me, and wouldn't let me work. We went
ashore every evening. We caught fish enough to eat. We were afloat
three days, and, naturally enough, became very well acquainted."

Hawbury stopped, and sighed.

"I tell you what it is, Dacres," said he, "there never lived a nobler,
more generous, and at the same time a braver soul than Ethel Orne. She
never said a word about gratitude and all that, but there was a
certain quiet look of devotion about her that gives me a deuced queer
feeling now when I think of it all."

"And I dare say--But no matter."