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 _bêche-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 _bêche-de-mer_, and
why this common sailor pronounced French so well. Her thoughts reverted
to the steamer.