Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (237 page)

He
stopped.
In
her
tired
yet
vivid
eyes
he
had
suddenly
surprised, for
the
first
time,
the
dead,
haunted
look
that
so
much
disconcerted him
when
he
glimpsed
it
in
the
others'
gaze.
It
was
as
if
she
retreated very
far
away,
drawing
down
a
blind.

She
said,
patiently,
as
one
speaking
to
a
child:

"Oh,
my
friend,
please
don't
be
so
foolish.
...
I
have
tried,
we have
all
tried,
so
many
times.
And
it
hurts,
to
fail
so
often."

"Then
you
won't
come?"

She
climbed
slowly
to
her
feet,
brushing
moss
from
her
bright skirts.
Then
she
shook
her
black,
silken
head
twice,
very
emphatically. "No.
I
will
not
come
with
you."

"Then,"
said
Patterson,
"since
I
can't
stay
here
to
watch
you
with the
Captain,
I
shall
escape
alone.
Won't
you
change
your
mind?"

She
came
near
to
him
and
put
her
hand
for
one
moment
upon
his shoulder.

"No.
I'll
not
change
my
mind."

And
with
a
swishing
of
silk,
that
sounded
strange
enough
in
that tropical,
emerald
glade,
she
left
him
to
his
thoughts,
and
his
thoughts were
agony.

For
weeks
he
slaved
in
secret
to
build
a
great
rakish-looking
solid raft
that
grew
slowly
into
shape
as
it
lay
concealed
amid
the
dusky green
of
overhanging
branches.
He
had
told
no
one
save
Doña
Inés
of
his
resolution
to
escape.
The
reason
was
simple;
in
his
heart
of hearts
he
dreaded
their
bitter
mockery,
their
cynical
disbelief
in
any possible
salvation
from
the
trap
of
the
island.
Yet
he
still
had
faith; once
aboard
his
raft
and
he
would
be
for
ever
borne
away
from
those perilous
and
beckoning
shores;
he
might
find
death,
but
this
he
did
not really
mind,
although
he
much
preferred
the
thought
of
life,
human life,
life
with
Inés.
And
then
he
had
to
remind
himself
that
the
Spanish
woman
was
a
thing
of
dust,
to
crumble
away
at
the
first
contact with
normal
humanity,
and
that
he
would,
in
any
event,
be
better without
her,
since
she
meant
another
mouth
to
feed.

But
he
still
desired
her,
and
it
was
as
though
the
Captain
knew, for
she
was
very
seldom
left
alone.
And
so
he
toiled
in
secret,
and
in his
spare
time
nursed
Judd,
who
lay
sick
of
a
poisonous
snake-bite
that swelled
his
foot,
and
turned
it
black,
and
would
have
meant
death in
any
other
land.

Once,
when
his
raft
was
nearly
completed,
he
caught
Inés
alone on
the
beach,
where,
against
a
background
of
golden
rock,
she
fed
a swirling
silver
mass
of
seagulls.
The
birds
wheeled,
crying
harshly,
and
Doña
Inés
smiled.
She
wore
a
knot
of
scarlet
passion-flowers
in
the dark
satin
of
her
hair.
Patterson,
determined
not
to
miss
a
second alone
with
her,
advanced
triumphantly
across
the
sands.
The
seagulls scattered.