Together we breakfasted upon the beach beside the fire, discussing our plans like comrades.
Our meal over, I rose.
"I will leave you here a little," I said, "while I explore."
With no great difficulty I made my way through the scrub and climbed the eminence of tumbled rocks that shut in the view.
On my return Miss Croyden was still seated by the fire, her head in her hands.
"Miss Croyden," I said, "we are on an island."
"Is it inhabited?" she asked.
"Once, perhaps, but not now. It is one of the many keys of the West Indies. Here, in old buccaneering days, the pirates landed and careened their ships."
"How did they do that?" she asked, fascinated.
"I am not sure," I answered. "I think with white-wash. At any rate, they gave them a good careening. But since then these solitudes are only the home of the sea-gull, the sea-mew, and the albatross."