De Sylva's words, amplifying his own vague recollection of the scene on board the _Andromeda_, enabled him to construct a picture of events as they were.

And his blood boiled when he thought of Iris, snatched many times from death, only to face it once more in the ravening form of starvation and thirst.
"Attack!" he said hoarsely.

"How is that possible?
A deep and wide channel separates us from the main island." The Brazilian, who seemed to have argued himself into a state of stoic despair, gave a startling answer.
"We have a boat, a sort of boat," he said quietly.
"How many will it hold ?" "Three, in a smooth sea, and with skilled handling.

It nearly overturned when I and two others crossed from the island, a distance of three hundred yards." "But we have ropes, clothes, perhaps some few pieces of wreckage.

Can nothing be done to repair it ?" "Meaning that we draw lots to see who shall endeavor to escape to-night ?" "The men might even do that." "Ah, yes--the men, of course.