Elaine could not so promptly recover from all she had undergone. She still sat staring at his face, a prey to confused emotions. "Suppose they had really been friendly, after all--and we let them go and leave us here like that?" "In that event they may return, since the boat will excite a bit of wonder." "You mean they will know, of course, that someone must be here who made it?" "It certainly tells that story rather plainly." She was thinking rapidly. "Then--if they shouldn't happen to be friendly, they would know it all just the same--and may still come back to--look us up?" Grenville nodded. "I shall certainly go to work with that chance in view." "Yes," she agreed, "we'll certainly do all we can. But another boat would take you weeks! After all your patient, tedious work--to have it stolen like that! Oh, I could cry, if I weren't so vexed and sorry!" Grenville smiled despite his sense of loss. "Perhaps I can rig some sort of a catamaran," he answered. "But for day and night sailing, such as we would doubtless have before us, the best of boats would be none too comfortable." "And we don't know where to sail." "Well--not precisely." "Then--what is the first thing to do?" "Cook and devour a hearty dinner." "But after that--to-morrow?" "Thank God for peace--and prepare for war, meanwhile praying it may not come." Elaine was grave, but her voice was clear and steady. "You think it will--that a fight will come? ... I'd much rather know the worst." "So would I!" said Grenville, cheerfully. "We can't. We can only get ready to acquit ourselves like--well, like gentlemen, and keep out an eye for a steamer.... Would you mind retreating to the cave I found, if dire necessity arose?" "I'll go wherever you tell me," she answered, with a smile that went to his heart. "But of course I can't help wishing that a steamer would really come." CHAPTER XXVII A FATEFUL EXPLOSION With feverish energy Grenville was at work, attempting to achieve a dozen ends at once. Nearly a week of high-pressure application appeared to have accomplished so little. Yet a hundred pounds at least of his liveliest powder had been mixed and stored away, either loosely or packed in the bamboo bombs, of which he had a dozen; much extra bamboo had been cut and brought to the terrace; a new lot of jugs had been molded of clay and were finally being fired in his former smelter; baskets were made and ready for fruits, should retreat to the cave be rendered expedient, and his first small raft, or catamaran, for gaining the exit to the cavern, was all but ready to launch.