into hooks and (with the back of my knife and a stone) I shaped each with a small ring a-top whereby I might secure them to my line; and though they had no barbs I thought they might catch any fish were I quick enough.

"How shall you do for a line, Martin?"

"I shall take the gut of one of our goats and worsted unravelled from my stocking."

"Will worsted be strong enough?"

"I shall make it fourfold."

"Nay, I will plait it into a line for you!"

"Good!" quoth I. And whipping off one of my stockings I unravelled therefrom sufficient of the worsted.

"But what shall you do for stockings?" says she, while this was a-doing.

"I will make me leggings of goat's-skin." So she took the worsted and now, sitting in a patch of radiant moonlight, fell to work, she weaving our fish-line with fingers very quick and dexterous, and I carving away at the pin for her hair.

"How old are you, Martin?" says she suddenly.

"Twenty-seven."

"And I shall be twenty-six to-morrow."

"I judged you older."

"Do I look it, Martin?"

"Yes--no, no!"

"Meaning what, Martin!"

"You do seem older, being no silly maid but of a constant mind, and one to endure hardship. Also you are very brave in peril, very courageous and high-hearted. Moreover you are wise."

"Do you think me all this?" says she softly. "And wherefore?"

"I have never heard you complain yet--save of me, and I have never seen you afraid. Moreover you caught a goat and killed it!"

"You are like to make me vain of my so many virtues, Martin!" laughs she; yet her laugh was very soft and her eyes kind when she looked at me.

"This hairpin shall be my birthday gift to you," says I.

"And surely none like to it in the whole world, Martin!"

After this we worked a great while, speaking no word; but presently she shows me my fish-line very neatly plaited and a good five feet long, the which did please me mightily, and so I told her.

"Heigho!" says she, leaning back against the rock, "Our days grow ever more busy!"

"And will do!" quoth I. "Here is strange, rude life for you, days of hardship and labour unceasing. Your hands shall grow all hard and rough and yourself sick with longing to be hence--"

"Alas, poor me!" she sighed.

"Why, 'twill be no wonder if you grieve for England and ease," says I, "'twill be but natural."

"O very, Martin!"

"For here are you," I went on, beginning to scowl up at the waning moon, "here are you bred up to soft and silken comfort, very dainty and delicate, and belike with lovers a-plenty, courtly gallants full up of fine phrases and eager for your service--."

"Well, Martin?"

"Instead of the which you have this island!"

"An earthly paradise!" says she.

"And myself!"

"A foolish being and gloomy!" says she. "One that loveth to be woeful and having nought to grieve him for the moment must needs seek somewhat! So will I to bed ere he find it!"

"Look now," quoth I, as she rose, "in losing the world you do lose everything--."

"And you also, Martin."

"Nay," says I, "in losing the world of yesterday I may find more than ever I possessed!"

"Meaning you are content, Martin?"

"Is anyone ever content in this world?"

"Well--I--might be!" says she slowly. "But you--I do fear you will never know true content, it is not in you, I think."

And off she goes to bed leaving me very full of thought. Howbeit the moon being very bright (though on the wane) I stayed there until I had finished her hairpin, of the which I give here a cut, viz.:--

{Sketch of a hairpin.)

CHAPTER XXXII

TELLS HOW I FOUND A SECRET CAVE

Next morning I was up mighty early and away to the little valley, first to view my pots and then to pick some flowers for her birthday, remembering her great love for such toys. Coming to the ashes of the fire, I must needs fall a-cursing most vilely like the ill fellow I was, and to swearing many great and vain oaths (and it her birthday!). For here were my pots (what the fire had left of them) all swollen and bulged with the heat, warped and misshapen beyond imagining.

So I stood plucking my beard and cursing them severally and all together, and fetched the nearest a kick that nigh broke my toe and set the pot leaping and bounding a couple of yards, but all unbroken. Going to it I took it up and found it not so much as scratched and hard as any stone. This comforted me somewhat and made me to regret my ill language, more especially having regard to this day, being as it were a day apart. And now as I went on, crossing the stream at a place where were stepping-stones, set there by other hands than mine, as I went, I say, I must needs think what a surly, ill-mannered fellow I was, contrasting the gross man I was become with the gentle, sweet-natured lad I had been. "Well but" (thinks I, excusing myself) "the plantations and a rowing-bench be a school where a man is apt to learn nought but evil and brutality, my wrongs have made me what I am. But again" (thinks I--blaming myself) "wrong and hardship, cruelty and suffering do not debase all men, as witness the brave Frenchman that was whipped to death beside me in the 'Esmeralda' galleass. Wrong and suffering either lift a man to greatness, or debase him to the very brute! She had said as much to me once. And she was right" (thinks I) "for the Frenchman had died the noble gentleman he was born, whiles I, as well-born as he and suffering no greater wrong than he, according to his own account, I had sullied myself with all the vileness and filth of slavedom, had fought and rioted with the worst of them!" And now remembering the shame of it all, I sat me down in the shade of a tree and fell to gloomy and sad reflection, grieving sorely over things long past and forgotten until now, and very full of remorse and scorn of myself.

"Howbeit" (thinks I) "if rogue and brute I am" (which is beyond all doubt) "I will keep such for my own kind and she shall know nought of it!" And here, getting upon my knees I took a great and solemn oath to this effect, viz., "Never by look, or word, or gesture to give her cause for shame or fear so long as we should abide together in this solitude so aid me God!" This done I arose from my knees and betook me to culling flowers, great silver lilies and others of divers hues, being minded to lay them on the threshold of her door to greet her when she should arise. With these in my arms I recrossed the brook and stepping out from a thicket came full upon her ere she was aware; and seeing her so suddenly I stood like any fool, my poor flowers hidden behind me. She had taken up one of my misshapen pots and was patting it softly as she viewed it, and a little smile on her red lips. All at once she turned and, spying me, came towards me all smiling, fresh and radiant as the morning.

"O Martin," says she, turning the pot this way and that, "O Martin, 'tis wonderful--"

"'Tis an abomination!" quoth I.

"And 'twill hold water!"

"'Tis like an ill dream!" says I.

"And so strong, Martin."

"True, 'tis the only merit the things possess, they are like stone--watch now!" And here, to prove my words, I let one drop, though indeed I chose a soft place for it.

"And they will be so easy to carry with these handles, and--why, what have you there?" Saying which she sets down the pot, gently as it had been an egg-shell, and comes to me; whereupon I showed her my posy, and I more fool-like than ever.

"I chanced to--see them growing," says I, "and thought--your birthday--they might pleasure you a little, mayhap--"