By Right of Conquest: A Novel

by Arthur Hornblow

It was some time before Grace had recovered sufficiently from the nervous shock of her terrifying encounter with the cobra to be able to get about, and during this period of enforced idleness she was compelled to depend altogether on Armitage. He supplied her with the necessaries and, as well as he was able, administered to her comfort.

Grateful to him for his attentions, it was not long before her feeling of obligation changed into real regard for the man. The dread in which she at first held him had completely disappeared, as was only natural after the services he had rendered her. Twice she owed him her life. That alone was a debt she could never repay. Moreover, he was thoughtful and courteous, and, so far, at least, had shown no disposition to take advantage of her helpless situation. How much worse her position would be if he were not there at all!

But she was too much worried and preoccupied with her own troubles to give her strange companion much thought. She watched him at work, and she ate listlessly the food he brought her, but that was about all the interest she took in anything.

Her one burning desire was to get away. During all her waking hours her thoughts turned only in one direction: how to escape as speedily as possible from this wretched island. As the days went by and no vessel appeared, she began to wonder if they would ever be rescued, or if she was doomed to remain on that remote islet for the rest of her days unable to communicate with her father and mother and friends, who, in ignorance of her fate, had long since given her up as dead. Perhaps in years to come some ship touching at the island in search of water would find, strewed along the beach, her bleached bones and his—picked clean by the vultures. She wept bitterly as she thought of it; her face was bathed in tears of compassion over her misfortune. She was ashamed to let Armitage see that she had been crying, but all day she brooded over her sorrow, and at night she dreamed that he was building a boat stout enough to convey them to the mainland.

Fearful that she would lose all notion of time, she started to count the days, keeping a rough kind of calender by scratching notches at regular intervals on a shell. She notched off the days one by one, her spirits sinking in proportion as their number increased. In her despair she appealed to her companion to reassure her. But Armitage shook his head dubiously. He had little comfort to offer.

"We must be patient," he said grimly. "We're here scarcely a week. Think of those shipwrecked sailors who have been marooned on desert islands for months, even years, often with almost nothing to eat. When finally they were rescued they were not recognizable as men. Their clothes hung upon them in shreds, their hair was matted and over-grown, they had forgotten how to talk, they tore the meat given them with their fingers like famished wolves. We have not so much to complain of. We have plenty of water, enough to eat. It's no use fretting. We must wait patiently. Perhaps we won't have to wait long. Any day our signal-fire may be sighted by a vessel."

They now kept two fires going, one close at hand for their own use, and another much bigger on top of the hill for signaling purposes. The hill-top commanded a superb view of every part of the island, and, viewed from the ocean, it must have been a conspicuous mark for miles. They christened it Mount Hope, for on it Grace centered all her fervent prayers for rescue. It became her Mecca, and each day she made the long and exhausting climb up its precipitous slope in the expectation of seeing steamer smoke or a sail on the distant horizon. But disappointment always awaited her. There was nothing in every direction but dreary, monotonous wastes of heaving water, the boisterous waves dancing in the sunlight as if to mock her misery.

The care of keeping this signal-fire going devolved on Armitage, and it was the day's most important task. The fire was kept banked with damped moss and peat in the daytime, so it would throw off a smoke thick enough to be visible miles away at sea. At night it was made to blaze furiously with the same object in view.

The cave had been deserted long ago. The day following her horrible experience with the serpent, Grace protested hysterically that nothing could induce her to enter the gloomy place again. Sleeping in it, she declared, was utterly out of the question. The cobra was dead, but there was no telling what other reptile as venomous and deadly might again crawl out of the cave's countless holes and recesses. Armitage admitted the possibility, and at once offered to build a cabin for her in the open. It would be far more healthy and comfortable.

She gladly consented, and he went to work with a will. He had no tools, and his construction materials were necessarily of the most primitive character. Happily, the weather continued fine, and, while her new home was in the building, Grace managed as best she could under a temporary shelter.