"There you are," said Grenville, boyishly exultant, "he's wash basin, comb, a few hairpins, and what-not, all in one, not to mention turtle soup." There was no more fishing done that afternoon, nor were knitting needles carved. What with his turtle, his fish, the digging of several yams, and the making of his bomb, Grenville was amply employed. Elaine was at length made acquainted with his programme for the night. She made no effort to dissuade him from his purpose, but excitement rose in her bosom. She feared for what the tiger might by mischance accomplish, and, also, she felt that in some occult way her own fate and the animal's were alike, if not related--that if such a brute must helplessly succumb to the man's superior prowess, there was no chance at all for anything as feeble as herself. A wild, unreasoning hope was in her breast that the tiger might escape, or die in some different manner--do something, almost anything, rather than contribute one more testimony to Sidney Grenville's might. She could not wish the creature to live, nor yet to injure this bold, audacious man. She only knew that some dread of the being who could dare engage or attack this savage monster of the jungle was once more assailing her quaking heart and stirring her nature to rebellion. In a manner that was largely automatic, she assisted in providing an early evening meal. It was dusk, however, when Grenville was finally ready to leave her on the hill. She followed him down to the gate against the wall, in the way of a child who fears long hours alone. "Good-night," he said to her, cheerily. "If you hear my little imitation of Bunker Hill--you might drop one tear for the departed." Her dread of the night, and the outcome of his excursion, had suddenly increased. "If you kill him," she said, "you'll come home?" He nodded. "Tickled to death and bragging like a pirate." Then he placed the logs and rocks against the barrier, and once more bade her good-night. She waited till his final footsteps died away in the gloom, then hastened once more to the brink above for a final glimpse of his form. He had passed, however, across the clearing, and not even the spark that he bore to the gathering darkness threw her back a dull red ray. He had lost little time after leaving the foot of the trail. The jungle was wrapped in somber shadows as he made his way to the spring. Some nimble little creature leaped lightly away when he came to the place. Otherwise there was not a sign or a sound to disturb the ringing silence. His bomb he placed beside the ebon water, where a ledge of rock would throw its violence outward. The fuse, which he carefully uncoiled and laid upon the grass, was amply long to meet his needs. At length, with his fire-stick held between his teeth, he ascended the ladder to his perch. The end of the fuse he now brought to the limb, conveniently near for lighting. Then he settled himself to wait.