"A sail!" she repeated, excitedly, the moment he appeared. "Oh, come!--please come at once!" She disappeared swiftly from the edge, running back, lest the sight be lost forever. Actively, Grenville went bounding across the clearing and up their narrow trail. He was panting and eager when Elaine ran forward to meet him, and clutched him by the arm. "I knew it would come!--I knew it!" she cried, as she hastened hotly forward at his side. "We must wave things as hard as we can!" She had guided him swiftly to the great lone tree that stood like the island's landmark, to be seen for many a mile. She pointed in triumph afar across the sea--and Grenville beheld a tiny sail, like the merest white notch in the sky. "Can they see us yet? Shall we wave?" said Elaine. "They couldn't go by and miss us now?" She was still clinging fast to Grenville's arm, and tears had sprung to her eyes. What long, long hours of torture, anxiety, and hope she had expended, uttering no complaint as the days went by, the man abruptly knew. Then something indescribably poignant shot boltlike through his heart. Elaine felt him harden, grow rigid, as his gaze narrowed down on the distant thing she had found in their purple sea. The note that broke from his lips at last made a shiver go down her spine. He suddenly turned, and his arm was wrenched from her clasp. He sped like a madman back to their mast and heaved all his weight against it. He threw back the rocks that held it in place in the crevice to which it had been fitted. Before she could follow, to question what he did, Elaine saw him drop the pole over. "Sidney!" she said, but the face that he turned wore a look that was new to her ken. "Pull up the ladder from the rocks!" he called. "Then go to the shelter and stay!" He himself ran to the cavern, to take up their largest jug of water. With this in his arms, he hastened down the trail to quench the flames beneath his boat. And when, with more water, hurried from the spring, he had drowned the last blue wisp of smoke, he brought the full jug to the cave again and tore down the improvised awning. "We had better hail death than that craft!" he said, "unless I am very much mistaken!" CHAPTER XXV AN IRREPARABLE LOSS Elaine was dumbly appalled for a moment by the words that Grenville had uttered. She finally found her voice. "But--why? I don't believe I understand. It isn't someone--some horrible men who hunt human heads for trophies?" Grenville was glad she knew what a head-hunter means. He loathed the necessity of making revolting explanations. He vainly wished he might spare her now--that his judgment might be in error. But the rakish angle of that sail, though so far away on the water, had left him no room to doubt that natives were manning the craft. "They may be friendly visitors, after all," he answered. "And then again they may not. It may be as wise for us to see them first, and determine our conduct later."