How he contrived to carry the seemingly lifeless form of Young Bill from the shore he hardly knew. It was a triumph of sheer determination over utter fatigue.
Again he chafed the nerveless arms, never desisting until the girl's lips moved and her eyes opened with a startled expression, like one waking from a troubled dream.
"Where am I?" she demanded feebly.
"Safe ashore," replied Burgoyne cheerfully enough. He was content for the time being to find Hilda restored to life. "Can you walk?" he continued, although the absurdity of putting such a question to one who had been unconscious but a few moments previously struck him rather forcibly as soon as he had uttered it.
"I'll try," she replied pluckily, greatly to his surprise. "Why? Must we be going anywhere?"
"No," he reassured her. "We're stopping on the island a little while, but if you can you ought to keep moving."
He assisted the girl to rise, and the pair, both excessively weak, walked unsteadily, although the movement was beneficial to both.
Hilda had come through the ordeal comparatively lightly. Beyond a graze on the back of her right hand and a slight cut on her forehead she was unhurt, although she complained of stiffness in her ankles and wrists.
"But I am hungry," she added plaintively.
The words brought before Burgoyne's eyes the vision of that grim spectre starvation. All their provisions had been lost when the boat broke her back on the reef. Unless the natural resources of the island could provide sufficient food to sustain life their predicament was a serious one.