Had something touched him? Stooped over him with clammy fingers on his bare throat? He tried to open his eyes, but he saw only one fleeting shimmer of sun on water before they closed again. There was a deadly heaviness in his limbs, an utter indifference in his brain; he did not know whether he was alive or dead, and did not care. Presently he knew he was dreaming. He thought he was lying in hot, hot sun, on hotter sand, and turned away from the hungry sea that pounded in his ears. And just before his eyes stood a girl; a tall girl in white, with a great veil of dusky hair streaming over her. Round her feet played two jaguar cubs, and in her arms was a third, that she cuddled and crooned to as if it were a child. Step by step she came close to him, and over her shoulder there peered from the bushes another face that leered and laughed as if in malice. A dreadful fright for the girl came over Brian Heriot, but in his nightmare he could not stir. He tried to shout, and the dream went. Something wet and cool on his head roused him; a shadow that was heaven came between him and the sun; a girl’s voice scolded something that seemed to be running and jumping over him. With an effort that racked every bone Brian Heriot sat up, and stared about him. Half his dream was true. He was on a beach, a wet handkerchief was bound on his head, but there was no one there. “Please come back!” he said. “I won’t hurt you,” and then laughed ruefully. Sick and dizzy, with a cut head and a wrenched ankle, he certainly would not hurt any one. “Oh, do come back!” he cried again, with a kind of vexed impatience, and wished he could remember some Portuguese instead of this useless English. But even as he spoke the bushes parted, and a girl slipped out of them. She stood looking at him with great eyes almost as yellow as topaz, and he saw the color come and go in her creamy cheeks. “I thought you were Mr. Egerton at first,” she said slowly, almost sullenly. “Did you come with him? Is he back?” Ill and exhausted as he was, the incongruity of the thing made him stare. Where had he got to, that a girl played with jaguar cubs and spoke in English? “I don’t know any one named Egerton,” he said, propping himself up on one arm. “My name’s Heriot.” “How did you get here? You really mean you don’t know him?” “I mean I never heard of him,” he answered stupidly. “I got here because my ship was wrecked last night. If you hadn’t waked me I think I should have had a touch of sun.” “You must get out of it,” said the girl quickly. She twisted her hair into a knot, as if she had just remembered it. As she did so a ring on her finger glittered green, and at the sight of it something in the bushes drew back sharply. At the rustle she bounded like a frightened child closer to the man in the sand, whose eyes were so blue in his handsome face, handsome in spite of blood-stains. “Did you see anything besides me, a little while ago?” she whispered. “Quick, tell me!”