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Clayton was in such a state that he was scarcely master of his own will. Jane Porter had not spoken for three days. He knew that she was dying. Horrible as the thought was, he hoped that the sacrifice of either Thuran or himself might be the means of giving her renewed strength, and so he immediately agreed to the Russian's proposal.
Miss Strong had told him that she and her mother were to visit the latter's brother there they had not decided upon the duration of their stay, and it would probably run into months. She was delighted when she found that Monsieur Thuran was to be there also. "I hope that we shall be able to continue our acquaintance," she said. "You must call upon mamma and me as soon as we are settled."
"Not yet," replied Jane, and then, quite irrelevantly, "I wish England were a million miles from here." Visits were exchanged between the yacht and Hazel's relatives. Dinners were arranged, and trips into the surrounding country to entertain the visitors. Monsieur Thuran was a welcome guest at every function.
The man relaxed the pressure of his fingers upon her lips, and with a little moan of terror as she recognized him the girl shrank away from her captor. "Nikolas Rokoff! M. Thuran!" she exclaimed. "Your devoted admirer," replied the Russian, with a low bow. "My little boy," she said next, ignoring the terms of endearment "where is he? Let me have him.
The strain had exhausted those who remained to such an extent that they lay half unconscious for the balance of the day, nor was the subject referred to again for several days. Horrible days of increasing weakness and hopelessness. At length Monsieur Thuran crawled to where Clayton lay. "We must draw once more before we are too weak even to eat," he whispered.
At Jane Porter's scream Monsieur Thuran and Spider awoke. On seeing the cause of her alarm, both men crawled to Clayton's rescue, and between the three of them were able to subdue Wilson and hurl him to the bottom of the boat.
He chafed the thin hands, and forced a few more drops of water into the parched throat. The girl opened her eyes, looking up at him for a long time before she could recall her surroundings. "Water?" she whispered. "Are we saved?" "It is raining," he explained. "We may at least drink. Already it has revived us both." "Monsieur Thuran?" she asked. "He did not kill you. Is he dead?"
Monsieur Thuran had been trying to find an excuse to make a graceful departure. The lull in the conversation following the moving of their position gave him an opportunity to make his excuses. Bowing low to Miss Strong, and inclining his head to Tarzan, he turned to leave them. "Just a moment," said Tarzan. "If Miss Strong will pardon me I will accompany you.
Wilson staggered up menacingly to prevent the contemplated act, but when his comrade, Spider, took sides with Clayton and Monsieur Thuran he gave up, and sat eying the corpse hungrily as the three men, by combining their efforts, succeeded in rolling it overboard. All the balance of the day Wilson sat glaring at Clayton, in his eyes the gleam of insanity.
"In what order shall we draw?" asked Monsieur Thuran, knowing from past experience that the majority of men always prefer last chance in a lottery where the single prize is some distasteful thing there is always the chance and the hope that another will draw it first.
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