Like a demon orb, great, horrifying, fusing, flashing, that eye looked at us. Those wrinkled yellow covers were the lids. The breath was a snort of vengeance now. It was a living island! Those eyes—those awful eyes! I shrank from their glare. I fell into the crater’s mouth. An instant I swung above a fiery depth. Regan caught my hand with mighty strength. I saw his face, defiant even then, looking up at those toppling peaks and quivering, gashed sides. “He has only to let go. I shall be out of his way forever then!” Even in the supreme suspense of the moment I thought I could not die and leave Isabella more happy without me. He was going to save me. I knew he would. But the rocks moved from him and together we rolled into the fiery crater, among sulphur and hot stones. We clung to the sides, the voice bewildering us with its roar, the breath shaking the whole surface of the volcano and of the rock. The smoke rose into a pillar above the crater. The yellow glare of the fire showed us where we were, showed us the danger on all sides. So strange an enemy stilled our hearts and palsied our faculties. We did nothing. Entombed in a volcano, hopelessly we sank upon the sand and waited, waited for death, until the daylight had gone. It was night. By this time the voice was still; the angry island had ceased to groan. The yellow liquid fire seethed in the cauldron; the smothering flames and smoke were often puffed into our faces. What would it do? A mad isle had its human hate! Was all the Star alive? Had the ball a huge heart to beat in the fiery centre? Had rocks a brain and nerve to think? “Did you believe it possible for rock and flame to look and think?” said I. I spoke to hear my own voice. The silence of voices was as bad as the danger. “We are not surprised to see that a sponge is vegetable in fibre with animal life,” replied Regan. “Roy, this is yellow gold; see here!” Regan shook some cooled drops of the liquid of the volcano into my hand. “Leave it on the ashes. Gold or dross it is all the same here. Let us cast ourselves down into this pit and end it all!” said I. I could die well enough if Regan would die too! Our blankets had fallen with us. Regan spread one above the flame. The hot air began to fill it. There was a hope. At once we were more cheerful. We broidered the ends of the blankets together, tied them into a balloon shape, expanding the mouths with our broken staves, leaving loops for our hands. We held the bag inverted above the crater. It slowly inflated. It began to pull. “That weak thing to swing above that lava! Never!” I exclaimed, and thoughtlessly, tortured by the heat, I let go the staves. In a second’s time Regan was swung into the air; the smoke hid him; he did not return. Then I gave way to my bitter despair and wept as I cast myself on the stones. Forever he was gone! I was alone—entombed by the rage of an island, deserted by the hate of a man!