Awakening to a bewildered consciousness Emily Granville opened her eyes in a glare of light which stung her vision so sharply that the lids shut instantly in intuitive defense. She could feel the soothing warmth of a fire near by. She was prone on her back. An attempt to move her limbs produced a sensation of being bound. Turning her head slightly from the direction of the fire she opened her eyes again timorously upon a sky burgeoning in a new crescent moon and a myriad of stars. The moon and stars seemed so close that she fancied that all she had to do was lift a hand to touch them. Lowering her gaze she saw the sea and heard its wild white horses neighing.  
With a cry of fright the castaway started into full consciousness, every part of her racked and a-throb with pain. By a great effort of will she struggled into a sitting posture and then to her knees. The firelight blinded her. All was still within its radius. An apprehension that she alone had survived the riving of the island overwhelmed her.
 
She remembered the cataclysmic upheaval which had flung her headlong as she stood beside Lavelle where he worked at the boat. She had gone to him to ask him to pause but a minute to take a little food and drink. He had answered her harshly, she had been thinking; and then a mountainous wave had hurled him against her; into her arms, in fact. She had held him with all her strength, but the sea must have been stronger. It must have taken him. Her memory stopped there.
 
"Captain! My friend!" she called in anguish to the night. It returned no answer. The wind lashed her face and throat as if determined she should be still. She breasted it with the fierceness of abandonment, lifting her aching arms and sobbing to the heavens:
 
"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why did you take him and leave me?"
 
Even, as this supplication burst from her Chang entered the circle of light, carrying an armful of wood. Rowgowskii followed at his heels, similarly burdened.
 
"All lite, lady! No be flaid!" called the Chinaman. He dropped the wood as he spoke and ran to her side. Her gaze went expectantly beyond him into the darkness. But the one for whom she looked did not appear.
 
"The captain—where——"
 
Emily could not utter another word. She sank back, supporting herself by one arm. She was afraid to listen to the giant's answer.
 
"Him all lite—bimeby, lady," said Chang.
 
Her heart surged in joy.
 
"He is alive?" she gasped. "Where is he?"
 
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."
 
As he spoke the Chinaman gently lifted one injured foot. She shrank from his touch and put out a hand to thrust him away.
 
"You be 'flaid flor Chang?" asked the giant wistfully. The glance with which he looked up at her made the woman ashamed that she had obeyed the impulse of littleness. She caught Rowgowskii staring at her from across the fire. His glance was a challenge to all the fineness of her being.
 
"I beg your pardon, Chang. I am not afraid of you," she said. She withdrew her protesting hand.
 
"You my master flen. He say by me when I tell him you hol' him han' in boat: 'Chang, maybe I go-an die. All hell kom-men you go-an save she.' Bimeby to-night when big sea kom-men you save my master. You save Chang. You like me die—I go-an die flor you. You must no be flaid."
 
The while Chang talked his long yellow fingers were going swiftly over Emily's feet. A surgeon's skill was in their touch. His head was bent, hearkening, where he manipulated the ankle and toe joints, for a sound which would betoken a fracture.
 
"No bone bloke," he announced with finality.
 
"Than............