"O!" cries she, "'Tis joy to be alive, to breathe such air, and behold such a glory of sea and sky! Look around us, Martin, and give thanks!" And truly the sea was smooth enough save for a long, rolling swell out of the East, and with a soft and gentle wind to abate the sun's generous heat. "Are you not glad to be alive, Martin?" says she.
"To what end?" I answered. "Of what avail is life to me cast away on a desolate island."
"Desolate?" says she, starting. "Do you mean we shall be alone?"
"Aye, I do."
"But surely," says she with troubled look, "surely Master Adam will fetch us away?"
"There is a chance!"
"And—if not?"
"God knoweth!" says I gloomily, "'Tis a small island as I learn, little known and out of the track of vessels."
"Yet a ship may come thither to our relief?"
"And if one doth not?"