He chuckled to himself as his mind dwelt on the disaster that had emancipated him. His taskmasters were no longer there to torment him—all were drowned or gone away in the boats. Once more he was a free man. At last he could raise his head. To the others the wreck had been an overwhelming calamity! to him it meant salvation. No matter what the future had in store, no matter what privations he must suffer on this island—even if he must soon perish—anything was better than the torture he had endured in that hellish stoke-hole.
In a way, he felt sorry for the girl. Evidently she was not used to roughing it. It would be harder for her than for him. She seemed inclined to be haughty, he thought. He had noticed the proud toss of her head when he spoke about her attending to the fire. He smiled grimly. She didn't like that. Well, that was the fault of her bringing up. How could a girl, raised as she'd been, be expected to do anything useful? Such girls were only the butterflies of life—of no particular use except to look pretty. It wouldn't do her any harm to learn a thing or two. Apart from that, she seemed all right. In fact, he was not sorry she'd been saved to share his solitude. His hour had not come to die, that was sure; otherwise he'd have been drowned with the rest. As long as he had to be cast away on this barren islet it was as well that he had a companion. Of course, she wouldn't be much use if it came to real hardships—procuring food, fighting off attacks of animals or reptiles, or building a boat to get away—but she was a beauty, a prize-winner, no mistake about that. Again his eyes gleamed as his mind dwelt upon what had been revealed to him in the cave—a torn dress, a white, soft neck, a soaked dress showing limbs like sculptured marble, a curved mouth, tempting enough to inflame a saint. Fast and furiously he worked, strange thoughts crowding upon each other in his brain.
Soon he had gathered a big pile of driftwood, and had it all ready for lighting. He rubbed his hands with satisfaction. They'd soon have a blaze that could be seen fifty miles out at sea. Taking from his pocket once more the little box, he unwrapped the oilskin and took out one of the three precious matches. Then, with infinite precautions, stooping and covering the tiny flicker with one hand to protect it from the wind, he applied the light. Only one match was necessary. Owing to the extreme dryness of the wood, the pile caught instantly. A thick column of smoke rose to the sky, followed by a sharp crackling and long tongue of flame. More wood and more he kept piling on until he had before him a roaring furnace. Pleased with the quick result, he shouted to Grace, who was still inside the cave.
"See here. You'll soon dry yourself by this fire!"
Grace appeared at the mouth of the cave. Busy tending to the fire, his back turned toward the cliff, he did not see her suddenly recoil as she perceived him, nor the expression of consternation and terror that came into her pale, wan face. As he stood there full in the strong light of the roaring fire, she saw the face of her rescuer distinctly for the first time. She saw vividly a picture she had seen once before on the ill-fated ship—the handsome profile of a man bending low over a glowing furnace, with the shoulders and muscles of a Hercules, and the head and grace of a Greek god. Transfixed, her bosom heaving, she stood rooted to the ground. Now she remembered! Now she knew him! He was the fireman Armitage—the terrible man of the Atlanta's stoke-hole. She was alone on the island—with that terrible man!
CHAPTER X.
The rest of that morning, Grace, to her intense relief, saw little of the man into whose abhorrent company she had been so strangely and unceremoniously thrown. Once the fire was well started Armitage had disappeared, leaving her in privacy to attend to her immediate needs. For this much consideration she felt grateful to him. But, after she had dried her clothes and had time to realize her terrible situation, she was overwhelmed by the hopeless horror of it. Her faculties well-nigh paralyzed, her nerves shattered almost to the point of total collapse, she sank down on a rock under the frowning cliffs, and, looking helplessly out over the vast and now peaceful sea, started to take mental stock of the extraordinary predicament in which she suddenly found herself.
Things had happened so quickly that she had no time for reflection. Bad as the situation had been before, it was ten times worse now. To think that she should be perched on a lonely island hundreds of miles from civilization, without any means of communicating with the outside world, alone with that man—and such a man!
Her heart sank as she remembered all the dreadful things she had heard about him on the ship. It was surely calamity enough to be shipwrecked and cast away on a stupid little island without food, shelter, or clothes, but how much more serious was the situation when the only other human being to be saved beside herself was the worst character on board. The first revelation of his identity was such a shock to her nervous system that she nearly swooned, her brain reeled, she thought she would go insane with terror.