She straightened again on her knees.
Chang drew back the edge of the boat sail, a part of which had also covered her. There lay "The Shadow" of the lost Cambodia with the bullet wound in his brow reopened where the sea had mauled him.
"Thank God," Emily murmured, seeing Lavelle stir.
She crawled on her knees to his side and felt the pulse of the hand which Chang drew out of the canvas. Its faintness killed the gladness which had come so swiftly into her heart.
"He—he—is dying, Chang!" she cried.
"No can be; no can be," answered the Chinaman with fiery emphasis. "Him more stlong. Go-an get better more klick. No can kill master so leasy."
"How long has he been this way, Chang?"
"Not more one hour. How you feet, lady?"
For the first time Emily was conscious of a tearing pain in her ankles and insteps. It was more intense than the stab-like thrusts which were piercing the rest of her body. Wondering what could have happened to her she turned so that she could see her feet. The trim, delicate ankles were swollen and the insteps were bruised and bleeding.
"Velly solly, lady," said Chang soothingly and in the manner of a father comforting a little child. "You velly blave. You velly stlong."