Just as Lavelle paused at the foot of the hill and waved his hand, Rowgowskii looked up from where he was cutting turf on the eastern slope. Unconsciously his hand went to his flattened nose. It was an action which invariably had come to accompany any glance which had Lavelle for its objective.  
Emily was hidden from his view, but the Russian could imagine her standing up there on the crest answering Lavelle's signal. He knew well, too, the light there must be in her eyes. He had surprised it there many times in the preceding three or four days, even as she had startled the animal lust in his.
 
Rowgowskii dropped the piece of metal which he was using for a cutting tool. It was part of the boat's air tank with which Lavelle had planned to repair the damage done by the boulder. His gaze followed the two men crossing the meadow until he saw Chang stop suddenly and look back. He started as if the Chinaman had the power of reading his thoughts. A guilty conscience is ever the quick prey of an honest eye. With much show of industry he picked up his cutter and resumed the stripping of turf. This activity lasted but a minute. Then, his gaze wandered around the empty sea, only to return to the two men below.
 
In the second that the Russian's eyes picked them up again a menacing oscillation passed through the earth and brought him in terror off his knees. He saw the Chinaman pitch headlong out of sight. The next second whipped Lavelle from his view. The palm tree remained the single object in the meadow.
 
Rowgowskii hesitated a moment, hearkening for a sound from above him or from the meadow. The silence was unbroken save by the purr of the morning breeze.
 
With the sneak of a stalking panther in his tread he darted around to the southern slope. A second's pause, a flashing glance behind to reassure himself that "The Shadow" and the yellow man were, indeed, gone, and he sprang up the hill.
 
CHAPTER XVII
 
Emily held Lavelle and Chang in view until they were halfway to the tree and the Chinaman halted and looked back. It was as if the giant had flashed a message to her. Her heart gave a throb of apprehension. Her breath caught in her throat. Her limbs trembled. She realized that she was alone on the hill with Rowgowskii. Only her own soul knew her repugnance of this man which had grown with the hours since they had come to the island.
 
Even as her mind bore the thought Emily became ashamed of her trepidation and self-consciousness. It was unworthy of the kind of woman that Lavelle's fearlessness of soul and fortitude made her desire to be.
 
Mortified, and with a flush mounting her cheeks at what she considered her mean selfishness, she turned from the meadow and the stretch of ocean southward. She walked across the hilltop. North, east, and west her gaze met an empty blue expanse of water. The hill oscillated and she swayed with it unconscious of the motion. Her attention was held by the glint of a white wing high against the cloudless azure sky to the northward where a frigate bird went seeking a mate.
 
"Oh, if we but had your wings!" she exclaimed.
 
"But we haven't," whispered a voice close to her ear. With the words an evil, burning breath struck her cheek and Rowgowskii's two powerful arms encircled her.
 
At the touch there leaped to life in Emily that furious strength which has been given to women t............