"You are bleeding," she answered, tugging no less stoutly at the oars. "I thought you might be dead. The tide was floating you away--and I don't see why---- Won't you please sit still and behave?" Grenville had felt of his head, then arisen to take the sweeps from her hands, though the catamaran was about to ground on the beach. "You did swim!" he said. "I should have warned you of the sh---- I'm an idiot!--trying to blow my head off!" He knelt on the edge of the platform and began to bathe his scalp. "I hate that cave!" Elaine declared, with emphasis. "And I hate those awful bombs! I sha'n't have any clothing left, if you go on killing yourself like this every day!" She was tearing another bandage from her petticoat and felt obliged to scold. Grenville was not at all certain it would not be decidedly pleasant to be wounded constantly. It was perilously joyous to be scolded and bandaged by Elaine. He certainly submitted most meekly as she now tied up his head. He was not deeply cut, and felt considerably aggrieved that the blow had rendered him unconscious. "You'll find the skull isn't dented," he observed, "unless it's from the inside out." "There's a great big swelling," said Elaine. "And suppose you had been killed?" Grenville made no immediate reply. He was gazing abstractedly out across the water. His inner vision conjured up the picture of a brave, unselfish little comrade, swimming fearlessly out to board a raft whereon a helpless figure was lying--a pale-faced girl who would doubtless have had no hesitation had she known of all the sharks in the world. He could see her scramble on the float to ease him where he lay. And then her hot tussle with the clumsy oars, as she knelt on the wave-slopped platform, to urge it and him to the shore! "I'm a thoughtless brute," he told her, finally. "But I felt the work was important." "It is important! I'm sure of that," she answered, at once all contrition. "But perhaps next time--you might take me along---- If anything should kill us both--why, that would be simple and easy." He understood her thoroughly. "Quite an idea," he answered, briefly. "I was sure you understood the situation---- To-morrow I'll go and see what the blast accomplished. I shall have no more explosions, however--so I may not need a chaperon." She was slightly hurt. His offhand speeches were not always absolutely welcome, despite her former attitude and declarations. After all, it was God, she told herself, who had brought this partnership into being. It was He who had cast her into exile with the bravest man she had ever known. "You mean," she said, "you do not want me along." "It's the tide that's ungallant," he said. "It objects to anyone's landing on the ledge." "But you said I might be obliged to hide there later." "I did, and till then--let's enjoy the sunshine--while it lasts."