As his uncle had done at Jhansi,
thirty years before, so he himself would do on that nameless Pacific
island--for he didn't know even now on what shore he had landed. If the
savages bore down upon them with hostile intent, and threatened Muriel,
he would plunge his knife first into that innocent woman's heart; and
then bury it deep in his own, and die beside her.
So the long night wore on--Muriel pillowed on loose cocoanut husk, dozing
now and again, and waking with a start to gaze round about her wildly,
and realize once more in what plight she found herself; Felix crouching
by her feet, and keeping watch with eager eyes and ears on every side for
the least sign of a noiseless, naked footfall through the tangled growth
of that dense tropical under-bush. Time after time he clapped his hand to
his ear, shell-wise, and listened and peered, with knitted brow,
suspecting some sudden swoop from an ambush in the jungle of creepers
behind the little plantain patch. Time after time he grasped his knife
hard, and puckered his eyebrows resolutely, and stood still with bated
breath for a fierce, wild leap upon his fancied assailant. But the night
wore away by degrees, a minute at a time, and no man came; and dawn began
to brighten the sea-line to eastward.
As the day dawned, Felix could see more clearly exactly where he was, and
in what surroundings.
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