ERNEST (continuing, well pleased).--‘By night the cries of wild cats and the hissing of snakes terrify us extremely’--(this does not satisfy him so well, and he makes a correction)--‘terrify the ladies extremely. Against these we have no weapons except one cutlass and a hatchet. A bucket washed ashore is at present our only comfortable seat’-- LADY MARY (with some spirit). And Ernest is sitting on it. ERNEST. H’sh! Oh, do be quiet.--‘To add to our horrors, night falls suddenly in these parts, and it is then that savage animals begin to prowl and roar.’ LADY MARY. Have you said that vampire bats suck the blood from our toes as we sleep? ERNEST. No, that’s all. I end up, ‘Rescue us or we perish. Rich reward. Signed Ernest Woolley, in command of our little party.’ This is written on a leaf taken out of a book of poems that Crichton found in his pocket. Fancy Crichton being a reader of poetry. Now I shall put it into the bottle and fling it into the sea. (He pushes the precious document into a soda-water bottle, and rams the cork home. At the same moment, and without effort, he gives birth to one of his most characteristic epigrams.) The tide is going out, we mustn’t miss the post. (They are so unhappy that they fail to grasp it, and a little petulantly he calls for CRICHTON, ever his stand-by in the hour of epigram. CRICHTON breaks through the undergrowth quickly, thinking the ladies are in danger.) CRICHTON. Anything wrong, sir? ERNEST (with fine confidence). The tide, Crichton, is a postman who calls at our island twice a day for letters. CRICHTON (after a pause). Thank you, sir. (He returns to his labours, however, without giving the smile which is the epigrammatist’s right, and ERNEST is a little disappointed in him.) ERNEST. Poor Crichton! I sometimes think he is losing his sense of humour. Come along, Agatha. (He helps his favourite up the rocks, and they disappear gingerly from view.) CATHERINE. How horribly still it is. LADY MARY (remembering some recent sounds). It is best when it is still. CATHERINE (drawing closer to her). Mary, I have heard that they are always very still just before they jump. LADY MARY. Don’t. (A distinct chapping is heard, and they are startled.) LADY MARY (controlling herself). It is only Crichton knocking down trees. CATHERINE (almost imploringly). Mary, let us go and stand beside him. LADY MARY (coldly). Let a servant see that I am afraid! CATHERINE. Don’t, then; but remember this, dear, they often drop on one from above. (She moves away, nearer to the friendly sound of the axe, and LADY MARY is left alone. She is the most courageous of them as well as the haughtiest, but when something she had thought to be a stick glides toward her, she forgets her dignity and screams.) LADY MARY (calling). Crichton, Crichton! (It must have been TREHERNE who was tree-felling, for CRICHTON comes to her from the hut, drawing his cutlass.) CRICHTON (anxious). Did you call, my lady?