In justice to Percival, it must be observed that he never spoke in this way except when alone with Brian, and very seldom even then. There had been a marked change in their relations to each other since the night when Heron had made what he called "his confession." They had never again mentioned the subject then discussed, but there had been a steady growth of friendship and confidence between them. If it was ever interrupted, it was only when Percival had now and then a moody fit, during which he would keep a sort of sullen silence. Brian respected these moods, and thought that he understood them. But he found in the end that he had been as much mistaken about their origin as Percival had once been mistaken in attributing motives of a mercenary kind to him.

And when the cloud passed, Percival would be friendlier and more genial than ever.

"Of course," said Heron, presently, "if a vessel saw our signal--and hove to, we should have to send out one of our ingeniously constructed small boats and state our case. Jackson and I would be the best men for the purpose, I suppose. Then they would send for the rest of you. A good opportunity for leaving you behind, Brian, eh?"

"A hermit's life would not suit me badly," said Brian, who was lying on his back on a patch of sand in the shade, with a hat of cocoa-nut fibre tilted over his eyes. "I think I could easily let you go back without me."

"I shall not do that, you know."

"It is foolish, perhaps, to let our minds dwell on the future," said Brian, after a moment's pause; "but the more I think of it the more I wonder that your mind is so set upon dragging me back to England. You know that I don't want to go. You know that that business could be settled just as well without me as with me; better, in fact. I shall have to stultify myself; to repudiate my own actions; to write myself down an ass."

"Good for you," said Percival, with an ironical smile.

"Possibly; but I don't see what you gain by it."

"Love of dominion, my dear fellow. I want to drag you as a captive at my chariot-wheels, of course. We will have a military band at the Dunmuir Station, and it shall play 'See the conquering hero comes.'"

"Very well. I don't mind assisting at your triumph."

"Hum! My triumph? Wait till that day arrives, and we shall see. What's that fellow making frantic signs about from that biggest palm-tree? It looks as if----Good Heavens, Brian, it's a sail!"

He dashed the net that he had been making to the ground, and rushed off at the top of his speed to the place where a pile of wood and seaweed had been heaped to make a bonfire. Brian followed with almost equal swiftness. The others had already collected at the spot, and in a few minutes a thin, wavering line of smoke rose up into the air, and flashes of fire began to creep amongst the carefully-dried fuel.

For a time they all watched the sail in silence. Others had been seen before; others had faded away into the blue distance, and left their hearts sick and sore. Would this one vanish like the others? Was their column of smoke, now rising thick and black towards the cloudless sky, big enough to be seen by the man on the look-out? And, if it was seen--what then? Why, even then, they might choose to avoid that perilous reef, and pass it by.

"It's coming nearer," said Jackson, at last, in a loud whisper.

Brian looked at Percival, then turned away and fixed his eyes once more upon the distant sail. There was something in Percival's face which he hardly cared to see. The veins on his forehead were swollen, his lips were nearly bitten through, his eyes were strained with that passionate longing for deliverance to which he seldom gave vent in words. If this vessel brought no succour, Brian trembled to think of the force of the reaction from that intense desire. For himself, Brian had little care: he was astonished to find how slightly the suspense of waiting told upon him, except for others' sake. He had no prospects: no future. But Percival had everything in the world that heart could wish for: home, happiness, success. It was natural that his impatience should have something in it that was fierce and bitter. If this ship failed them, the disappointment would almost break his heart.

"They've seen us," Jackson repeated, hoarsely. "They're making for the island. Thank God!"

"Don't be too sure," said Percival, in a harsh voice. Then, in a few minutes, he added:--"The boats had better be seen to. I think you are right."

Fenwick and the boy went off immediately to the place where the two little boats were moored--boats which they had all laboured to manufacture out of driftwood and rusty iron nails. Jackson remained to throw fuel on the fire, and Percival, suddenly laying a hand on Brian's arm, led him apart and turned his back upon the glittering expanse of sea.

"I'm as bad as a woman," he said, tightening his grasp till it seemed like one of steel on Brian's arm. "It turns me sick to look. Do you think it is coming or not!"

"Of course it is coming. Don't break down at the last moment, Heron."

"I'm not such a fool," said Percival, gruffly. "But--good God! think of the months we have gone through. I say," with a sudden and complete change of tone, "you're not going to back out of our arrangements, are you? You're coming to England with me?"

"If you wish it."

"I do wish it."

"Very well. I will come."

They clasped hands for a moment in silence and then separated. Brian went to the hut to collect the scanty belongings of the party: Percival made his way down to the boats.

There was no mistake about the vessel now. She was making steadily for the Rocas Reef. About a mile-and-a-half from it she hove to; and a boat was lowered. By this time Heron and Jackson had rowed to the one gap in the barrier reef that surrounded the island; they met the ship's boat half-way between the reef and the ship itself. A young, fair, pleasant-looking man in the ship's boat attracted Percival's attention at once: he seemed to be in some position of authority, although it was evident that he was not one of the ship's officers. As soon as they were within speaking distance of each other, questions and answers were exchanged. Percival was struck by the brightness of the young man's face as he gave the information required. After a little parley, the boat went its way to the schooner; the officer in charge declaring with an odd smile that the castaways had better make known their condition to the captain, before returning for the others on the island. Percival was in no mood to demur: he and Jackson stepped into the ship's boat, and their own tiny craft was towed behind it as a curiosity in boatbuilding.

There was a good deal of crowding at the ship's sides to look at the new-comers: and, as Percival sprang on board, with a sense of almost overpowering relief and joy at the sight of his country-men, a broad, red-faced man with a black beard, came up, and, as soon as he learnt his name, shook him heartily by the hand.

"So you're Mr. Heron," he said, giving him an oddly interested and approving look. "Well, sir, we've come a good way for you, and I hope you're glad to see us. You'll find some acquaintances of yours below."

"Acquaintances?" said Heron, staring.

"There's one, at any rate," said the captain, pushing forward a seaman who was standing at his elbow, with a broad grin upon his face.

"Remember Mason of the _Arizona_, Mr. Heron? Ah, well! if you go into the cabin, you'll find someone you remember better." And then the captain laughed, and Heron saw a smile on the faces round him, which confused him a little, and made him fancy that something was going wrong. But he had not much time for reflection. He was half-led, half-pushed, down the companion ladder, but in such a good-humoured, friendly way that he did not know how to resist; and then the fair-haired young man opened a door and said, "He's here, sir!" in a tone of triumph, which was certainly not ill bestowed. And then there arose some sort of confusion, and Percival heard familiar voices, and felt that his hand was half-shaken off, and that somebody had kissed his cheek.

But for the moment he saw no one but Elizabeth.

They had known for some little time that their quest had been successful, that Percival was safe. They had seen him as he rowed from the island, as he entered the other boat, as he set his foot upon the schooner; and then they had withdrawn into the cabin, so that they might not meet him under the inquisitive, if friendly, eyes of the captain and his crew. Perhaps they had hardly made enough allowance for the shock of surprise and joy which their appearance was certain to cause Percival.

His illness and long residence on the island had weakened his physical force. In almost the first time in his life he felt a sensation of faintness, which made him turn pale and stagger, as he recognised the faces of the two persons whom he loved better than any other in the world--his friend and his betrothed. A thought of Brian, too, embittered this his first meeting with Elizabeth. Only one person noticed that momentary paleness and unsteadiness of step; it was natural that Angela, a sympathetic spectator in the background, should see more than even Elizabeth, whose eyes were dim with emotions which she could not have defined.

Explanations were hurriedly given, or deferred till a future time. It was proposed that the whole party should go on shore, as everyone was anxious to see the place where Percival had spent so long a time. Even Rupert talked gleefully of "seeing" it. Percival had never seen his friend so exultant, so triumphant. And then, without knowing exactly how it happened, he found himself for a moment alone with Elizabeth, with whom he had hitherto exchanged only a hurried, word or two of greeting.

But her hand was still in his when he turned to speak to her alone.

"How beautiful you look!" he said. "If you knew what it is to me to see you again, Elizabeth!"

But it was not pure joy that sparkled in his eyes.

"Dear Percival! I am glad to see you, so glad to know that you are safe."

"You were sorry when you heard----"

"Oh," she said, "sorry is not the word. I could not forgive myself! I can never thank God enough that we have found you."

"Yes," said he, in a low tone. "I think you are glad that I am safe. I don't deserve that you should be, but----Well, never mind all that.

Won't you give me one kiss, Elizabeth, my darling?" Then, in a more cheerful voice, "Come and see this wretched hole in which we have passed the last four months. It is an interesting place."

"Oh, Percival, it is just like yourself to say so!" said Elizabeth, smiling, but with tearful eyes. "And how pale and thin you are."

"You should have seen me a couple of months ago. I was a skeleton then,"

said Percival, as he opened the door for her. "A shell-fish diet is not one which I should recommend to an invalid."

He was conscious of a question in her eyes which he did not mean to answer: he even found time to whisper a word to Jackson before they got into the boat. "Not a word about Luttrell," he whispered. "Say it was a steerage passenger who gave his name as Mackay. And don't say anything unless they ask you point blank." Jackson stared, but nodded an assent.

He had a good deal of faith in Mr. Heron's wisdom.

Pale and gaunt as Percival undoubtedly was, Elizabeth thought that he looked very like his old self, as he stood frowning and biting his moustache in the bows, and looking shorewards as though he were afraid of something that he might see. This familiar expression--something between anxiety and annoyance--made Elizabeth smile to herself in spite of her agitation. Percival was not much changed.

She was sitting near him, and she longed to ask the question which was uppermost in her mind; but it was a difficult question to ask, seeing that he did not mention Brian Luttrell of his own accord. With an effort that made her turn pale, she bent forward at last, and said, fixing her eyes steadily upon him:--

"What news of the _Falcon_?"

He looked at her and hesitated, "Don't ask me now," he said, averting his face.

She was silent. He heard a little sigh, and glancing at her again, saw a look of heart-sick resignation in her white face which told him that she thought Brian must be dead. He felt a pang of compunction, and a desire to tell her all, then he restrained himself. "She will not have to wait long," he thought, with a rather bitter smile.

When they landed, he quietly took her hand in his, and led her a little apart from the others. Angela and Rupert, Mrs. Norman and Mr. Fane, were, however, close behind. They followed Percival's footsteps as he showed the way to one of the huts which the men had occupied during their stay on the island. When they were near it, he turned and spoke to Rupert and Angela. "I am obliged to be very rude," he said. "Let me go into the hut with Miss Murray first of all. There is something I want her to see--something I must say. I will come back directly."