The new moon had come and waxed to the full and was once more waning in the heavens. They were marvelous nights the old orb made upon the island, but always weird and exciting a sense, in Elaine at least, of loneliness and aloofness from the world. On their cliff above the murmurous tides, she and Grenville frequently sat for hours at a time without exchanging a word. Such times were fraught with strangely exciting moments; and subtle tinglings came unbidden to her nature, giving her pleasures wildly lawless and precious beyond expression. Yet she feared them also when they came, and refused to give them meaning. But to-night a new wistfulness burned in her eyes as she turned to her silent companion. "I wonder," she said, "if we couldn't put a fresher flag on our pole to-morrow." "Sure shot," said Sid, "the freshest flag that ever grew." She was silent again for several moments. Then she said: "What should we do if a year went by--two years, perhaps, or even more--and a ship should never come?" "Do?" said Grenville. "Sail away." "I know. But I mean, supposing we found no place to go--and had to come back every time." "H'm!" said Grenville, rubbing the corner of his jaw, "you probably also mean to suppose we were always unmolested." "Why, yes, of course. Who could come to molest us here?" "Molesters," he said, "if anyone. But perhaps they never would." He had given no answer to her question, which she hardly cared to repeat. It was one of the times, which frequently came, when she could not prevent herself from wondering if this strong, primal man she had once called a brute could have utterly forgotten the passionate declaration made on the steamship "Inca" the day before the wreck. She wondered also, had he meant it at the time? Or had one of his many inscrutable moods possessed him, barely for the moment? She had never dared recently confess to herself what feelings might instantly invade her tingling nature should she learn he had only pretended, perhaps on some wager with Gerald, as a test of her faithfulness and love. It was womanlike, merely, on her part, to desire to know his mind. No woman may long resent being loved by a strong and masterful man. And Elaine was delightfully typical of all her delightful sex. "Well," she presently said, "we've been here now much longer than we ever expected that day when we arrived." His gaze, which had been averted, now swung to a meeting with her own. She had never seemed lovelier, braver, more sweetly disposed than now. The moonlight deepened her luminous eyes till the man fairly held his breath. "Elaine," he said, finally, glancing once more towards the silvered sea, "what is your notion of love?" The shock of the word threw all her wits into confusion. "My notion?" she stammered, helplessly, feeling the hot flames leap like floods of his molten metal to her neck, her face, and her bosom. "I don't believe--I have--any notions."