Jackson's illness seemed to give Percival a pretext for absenting himself from the hut in which the so-called Mackay lay. He had, just at first, an invincible repugnance to meeting him again; he could not make up his mind how Brian Luttrell would expect to be treated, and he was almost morbidly sensitive about the mistake that he had made respecting "the steerage passenger." At night he stayed with Jackson, and sent the other men to sleep in Mackay's hut. But in the morning an absolute necessity arose for him to speak to his enemy. Jackson was sensible, though extremely weak, when the daylight came: and his first remark was an anxious one concerning the state of his comrade's broken leg. "Will you look after it a bit, sir?" he said, wistfully, to Heron. "I'll do my best. Don't bother yourself," said Percival, cheerfully. And accordingly he presented himself at an early hour in the other sleeping-place, and addressed Brian in a very matter of fact tone. "Your leg must be seen to this morning. I shall make a poor substitute for Jackson, I'm afraid; but I think I shall do it better than Pollard or Fenwick." "I've no doubt of that," said the man with the brown beard and bright, quick eyes. "Thank you." And that was all that passed between them. It was wonderful to see the determined, unsparing way in which Percival worked that day. His energy never flagged. He was a little less good-tempered than usual; the upright black line in his forehead was very marked, and his utterances were not always amiable. But he succeeded in his object; he made himself so thoroughly tired that he slept as soon as his head touched his hard pillow, and did not wake until the sun was high in the heaven. The men showed a good deal of consideration for him. Fenwick watched by the sick man, and Pollard and Barry bestirred themselves to get ready the morning meal, and to attend to the wants of their two helpless companions. It was not until evening that Brian found an opportunity to say to Percival:-- "What did you want to find me for?" "Can't you let the matter rest until we are off this ---- island?" said Percival, losing control of that hidden fierceness for a moment. And Brian answered rather coldly:--"As you please." Percival waited awhile, and then said, more deliberately:-- "I'll tell you before long. There is no hurry, you see"--with a sort of grim humour--"there is no post to catch, no homeward-bound mail steamer in the harbour. We cannot give each other the slip now." "Do you mean that I gave you the slip?" said Brian, to whom Percival's tone was charged with offence. "I mean that Brian Luttrell would not have been allowed to leave England quite so easily as Mr. Stretton was. But I won't discuss it just now. You'll excuse my observing that I think I would drop the 'Mackay' if I were you. It will hurt nobody here if you are called Luttrell; and--I hate disguises."