As It Was in the Beginning

by Philip Verrill Mighels

She was still clinging fast to Grenville's arm, and tears had sprung to her eyes. What long, long hours of torture, anxiety, and hope she had expended, uttering no complaint as the days went by, the man abruptly knew. Then something indescribably poignant shot boltlike through his heart.

Elaine felt him harden, grow rigid, as his gaze narrowed down on the distant thing she had found in their purple sea. The note that broke from his lips at last made a shiver go down her spine.

He suddenly turned, and his arm was wrenched from her clasp. He sped like a madman back to their mast and heaved all his weight against it. He threw back the rocks that held it in place in the crevice to which it had been fitted.

Before she could follow, to question what he did, Elaine saw him drop the pole over.

"Sidney!" she said, but the face that he turned wore a look that was new to her ken.

"Pull up the ladder from the rocks!" he called. "Then go to the shelter and stay!"

He himself ran to the cavern, to take up their largest jug of water. With this in his arms, he hastened down the trail to quench the flames beneath his boat.

And when, with more water, hurried from the spring, he had drowned the last blue wisp of smoke, he brought the full jug to the cave again and tore down the improvised awning.

"We had better hail death than that craft!" he said, "unless I am very much mistaken!"