"The pickaxes!" I roared.
Denny turned and fled; a moment elapsed; I did not know what to do, how to look at Phroso, or how not to look at her. I took refuge in flight. I rushed into the kitchen on pretence of aiding or hastening Denny's search. I found him taking up an old pick that stood near the door leading to the compound. I seized it from his hand.
"Confound you!" I cried, for Denny laughed openly at me; and I rushed back to the hall! But on the threshold I paused—and said what I will not write.
For, though there came from somewhere just the last ripple of a mirthful laugh, the hall was empty! Phroso was gone! I flung the pickaxe down with a clatter on the boards, and exclaimed in my haste:
"I wish to heaven I'd never bought the island!"
But I did not mean that really.
(To be continued.)