When he was assured that this silent company was beyond mortal help he at once strode away towards the nearest belt of trees.
He could not tell how long the search for water might be protracted, and there was pressing need for it.
When he reached the first clump of brushwood he uttered a delighted exclamation.

There, growing in prodigal luxuriance, was the beneficent pitcher-plant, whose large curled-up leaf, shaped like a teacup, not only holds a lasting quantity of rain-water, but mixes therewith its own palatable and natural juices.
With his knife he severed two of the leaves, swearing emphatically the while on account of his damaged finger, and hastened to Iris with the precious beverage.

She heard him and managed to raise herself on an elbow.
The poor girl's eyes glistened at the prospect of relief.

Without a word of question or surprise she swallowed the contents of both leaves.
Then she found utterance.

"How odd it tastes! What is it ?" she inquired.
But the eagerness with which she quenched her thirst renewed his own momentarily forgotten torture.