Clayton dreamed that he was drinking his fill of water,pure, delightful drafts of fresh water. With a start hegained consciousness to find himself wet through bytorrents of rain that were falling upon his body and hisupturned face. A heavy tropical shower was beating downupon them. He opened his mouth and drank. Presently hewas so revived and strengthened that he was enabled toraise himself upon his hands. Across his legs layMonsieur Thuran. A few feet aft Jane Porter was huddledin a pitiful little heap in the bottom of the boat--shewas quite still. Clayton knew that she was dead.

After infinite labor he released himself from Thuran'spinioning body, and with renewed strength crawled toward the girl.He raised her head from the rough boards of the boat's bottom.There might be life in that poor, starved frame even yet.He could not quite abandon all hope, and so he seized awater-soaked rag and squeezed the precious drops betweenthe swollen lips of the hideous thing that had but a fewshort days before glowed with the resplendent life ofhappy youth and glorious beauty.

For some time there was no sign of returning animation,but at last his efforts were rewarded by a slight tremor ofthe half-closed lids. He chafed the thin hands, and forced afew more drops of water into the parched throat. The girlopened her eyes, looking up at him for a long time beforeshe 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?"

"I do not know," replied Clayton. "If he lives and thisrain revives him--" But he stopped there, remembering toolate that he must not add further to the horrors which thegirl already had endured.

But she guessed what he would have said.

"Where is he?" she asked.

Clayton nodded his head toward the prostrate form ofthe Russian. For a time neither spoke.

"I will see if I can revive him," said Clayton at length.

"No," she whispered, extending a detaining hand toward him."Do not do that--he will kill you when the water hasgiven him strength. If he is dying, let him die. Do not leaveme alone in this boat with that beast."

Clayton hesitated. His honor demanded that he attemptto revive Thuran, and there was the possibility, too, that theRussian was beyond human aid. It was not dishonorable tohope so. As he sat fighting out his battle he presently raisedhis eyes from the body of the man, and as they passed abovethe gunwale of the boat he staggered weakly to his feet witha little cry of joy.

"Land, Jane!" he almost shouted through his cracked lips."Thank God, land!"

The girl looked, too, and there, not a hundred yards away,she saw a yellow beach, and, beyond, the luxurious foliageof a tropical jungle.

"Now you may revive him," said Jane Porter, for she, too,had been haunted with the pangs of conscience which hadresulted from her decision to prevent Clayton from offeringsuccor to their companion.

It required the better part of half an hour before theRussian evinced sufficient symptoms of returning consciousnessto open his eyes, and it was some time later beforethey could bring him to a realization of their good fortune.By this time the boat was scraping gently upon the sandy bottom.

Between the refreshing water that he had drunk and thestimulus of renewed hope, Clayton found strength to staggerthrough the shallow water to the shore with a line madefast to the boat's bow. This he fastened to a small tree whichgrew at the top of a low bank, for the tide was at flood, andhe feared that the boat might carry them all out to sea againwith the ebb, since it was quite likely that it would be beyondhis strength to get Jane Porter to the shore for several hours.Next he managed to stagger and crawl toward the near-by jungle, where he had seen evidences of profusion oftropical fruit. His former experience in the jungle ofTarzan of the Apes had taught him which of the many growingthings were edible, and after nearly an hour of absence hereturned to the beach with a little armful of food.

The rain had ceased, and the hot sun was beating down somercilessly upon her that Jane Porter insisted on making animmediate attempt to gain the land. Still further invigoratedby the food Clayton had brought, the three were able to reachthe half shade of the small tree to which their boat was moored.Here, thoroughly exhausted, they threw themselves down to rest,sleeping until dark.

For a month they lived upon the beach in comparative safety.As their strength returned the two men constructed a rudeshelter in the branches of a tree, high enough from theground to insure safety from the larger beasts of prey.By day they gathered fruits and trapped small rodents; at nightthey lay cowering within their frail shelter while savagedenizens of the jungle made hideous the hours of darkness.

They slept upon litters of jungle grasses, and for coveringat night Jane Porter had only an old ulster that belongedto Clayton, the same garment that he had worn upon thatmemorable trip to the Wisconsin woods. Clayton had erecteda frail partition of boughs to divide their arboreal shelterinto two rooms--one for the girl and the other for MonsieurThuran and himself.

From the first the Russian had exhibited every trait of histrue character--selfishness, boorishness, arrogance,cowardice, and lust. Twice had he and Clayton come toblows because of Thuran's attitude toward the girl.Clayton dared not leave her alone with him for an instant.The existence of the Englishman and his fiancee was onecontinual nightmare of horror, and yet they lived on inhope of ultimate rescue.

Jane Porter's thoughts often reverted to her other experienceon this savage shore. Ah, if the invincible forest godof that dead past were but with them now. No longer wouldthere be aught to fear from prowling beasts, or from thebestial Russian. She could not well refrain from comparingthe scant protection afforded her by Clayton with what shemight have expected had Tarzan of the Apes been for asingle instant confronted by the sinister and menacingattitude of Monsieur Thuran. Once, when Clayton had goneto the little stream for water, and Thuran had spoken coarselyto her, she voiced her thoughts.

"It is well for you, Monsieur Thuran," she said, "that thepoor Monsieur Tarzan who was lost from the ship that broughtyou and Miss Strong to Cape Town is not here now."

"You knew the pig?" asked Thuran, with a sneer.

"I knew the man," she replied. "The only real man, Ithink, that I have ever known."

There was something in her tone of voice that led the Russianto attribute to her a deeper feeling for his enemy thanfriendship, and he grasped at the suggestion to be furtherrevenged upon the man whom he supposed dead by besmirchinghis memory to the girl.

"He was worse than a pig," he cried. "He was a poltroonand a coward. To save himself from the righteous wrath ofthe husband of a woman he had wronged, he perjured hissoul in an attempt to place the blame entirely upon her.Not succeeding in this, he ran away from France to escapemeeting the husband upon the field of honor. That is whyhe was on board the ship that bore Miss Strong and myself toCape Town. I know whereof I speak, for the woman in thecase is my sister. Something more I know that I have nevertold another--your brave Monsieur Tarzan leaped overboardin an agony of fear because I recognized him, and insistedthat he make reparation to me the following morning--wecould have fought with knives in my stateroom."

Jane Porter laughed. "You do not for a moment imaginethat one who has known both Monsieur Tarzan and youcould ever believe such an impossible tale?"

"Then why did he travel under an assumed name?" askedMonsieur Thuran.

"I do not believe you," she cried, but nevertheless theseed of suspicion was sown, for she knew that Hazel Stronghad known her forest god only as John Caldwell, of London.

A scant five miles north of their rude shelter, all unknownto them, and practically as remote as though separated bythousands of miles of impenetrable jungle, lay the snuglittle cabin of Tarzan of the Apes. While farther up thecoast, a few miles beyond the cabin, in crude but well-builtshelters, lived a little party of eighteen souls--the occupantsof the three boats from the LADY ALICE from which Clayton'sboat had become separated.

Over a smooth sea they had rowed to the mainland in lessthan three days. None of the horrors of shipwreck had beentheirs, and though depressed by sorrow, and suffering fromthe shock of the catastrophe and the unaccustomed hardshipsof their new existence there was none much the worsefor the experience.

All were buoyed by the hope that the fourth boat hadbeen picked up, and that a thorough search of the coastwould be quickly made. As all the firearms and ammunitionon the yacht had been placed in Lord Tennington's boat,the party was well equipped for defense, and for huntingthe larger game for food.

Professor Archimedes Q. Porter was their only immediate anxiety.Fully assured in his own mind that his daughter had beenpicked up by a passing steamer, he gave over the lastvestige of apprehension concerning her welfare, anddevoted his giant intellect solely to the consideration ofthose momentous and abstruse scientific problems which heconsidered the only proper food for thought in one ofhis erudition. His mind appeared blank to the influenceof all extraneous matters.

"Never," said the exhausted Mr. Samuel T. Philander, toLord Tennington, "never has Professor Porter been moredifficult--er--I might say, impossible. Why, only thismorning, after I had been forced to relinquish my surveillancefor a brief half hour he was entirely missing upon my return.And, bless me, sir, where do you imagine I discovered him?A half mile out in the ocean, sir, in one of the lifeboats,rowing away for dear life. I do not know how he attainedeven that magnificent distance from shore, for he had but asingle oar, with which he was blissfully rowing about in circles.

"When one of the sailors had taken me out to him inanother boat the professor became quite indignant at mysuggestion that we return at once to land. `Why, Mr. Philander,'he said, `I am surprised that you, sir, a man of lettersyourself, should have the temerity so to interrupt theprogress of science. I had about deduced from certain astronomicphenomena I have had under minute observation during thepast several tropic nights an entirely new nebular hypothesiswhich will unquestionably startle the scientific world. I wishto consult a very excellent monograph on Laplace's hypothesis,which I understand is in a certain private collection inNew York City. Your interference, Mr. Philander, will resultin an irreparable delay, for I was just rowing over to obtainthis pamphlet.' And it was with the greatest difficulty that Ipersuaded him to return to shore, without resorting to force,"concluded Mr. Philander.

Miss Strong and her mother were very brave under thestrain of almost constant apprehension of the attacks ofsavage beasts. Nor were they quite able to accept so readilyas the others the theory that Jane, Clayton, and Monsieur Thuranhad been picked up safely.

Jane Porter's Esmeralda was in a constant state of tears at thecruel fate which had separated her from her "po, li'le honey."

Lord Tennington's great-hearted good nature never desertedhim for a moment. He was still the jovial host, seekingalways for the comfort and pleasure of his guests. With themen of his yacht he remained the just but firm commander--there was never any more question in the jungle than therehad been on board the LADY ALICE as to who was the finalauthority in all questions of importance, and in allemergencies requiring cool and intelligent leadership.

Could this well-organized and comparatively secure partyof castaways have seen the ragged, fear-haunted trio a fewmiles south of them they would scarcely have recognized inthem the formerly immaculate members of the little companythat had laughed and played upon the LADY ALICE.Clayton and Monsieur Thuran were almost naked, so tornhad their clothes been by the thorn bushes and tangledvegetation of the matted jungle through which they had beencompelled to force their way in search of their ever moredifficult food supply.

Jane Porter had of course not been subjected to thesestrenuous expeditions, but her apparel was, nevertheless,in a sad state of disrepair.

Clayton, for lack of any better occupation, had carefullysaved the skin of every animal they had killed. By stretchingthem upon the stems of trees, and diligently scraping them,he had managed to save them in a fair condition, and nowthat his clothes were threatening to cover his nakedness nolonger, he commenced to fashion a rude garment of them,using a sharp thorn for a needle, and bits of tough grass andanimal tendons in lieu of thread.

The result when completed was a sleeveless garment whichfell nearly to his knees. As it was made up of numeroussmall pelts of different species of rodents, it presented arather strange and wonderful appearance, which, togetherwith the vile stench which permeated it, rendered it anythingother than a desirable addition to a wardrobe. But the timecame when for the sake of decency he was compelled to donit, and even the misery of their condition could not preventJane Porter from laughing heartily at sight of him.

Later, Thuran also found it necessary to construct a similarprimitive garment, so that, with their bare legs and heavilybearded faces, they looked not unlike reincarnations of twoprehistoric progenitors of the human race. Thuran acted like one.

Nearly two months of this existence had passed when thefirst great calamity befell them. It was prefaced by anadventure which came near terminating abruptly the sufferingsof two of them--terminating them in the grim and horriblemanner of the jungle, forever.

Thuran, down with an attack of jungle fever, lay in theshelter among the branches of their tree of refuge.Clayton had been into the jungle a few hundred yardsin search of food. As he returned Jane Porter walkedto meet him. Behind the man, cunning and crafty,crept an old and mangy lion. For three days his ancientthews and sinews had proved insufficient for the task ofproviding his cavernous belly with meat. For months hehad eaten less and less frequently, and farther and fartherhad he roamed from his accustomed haunts in search ofeasier prey. At last he had found nature's weakest andmost defenseless creature--in a moment more Numa would dine.

Clayton, all unconscious of the lurking death behind him,strode out into the open toward Jane. He had reached herside, a hundred feet from the tangled edge of jungle whenpast his shoulder the girl saw the tawny head and thewicked yellow eyes as the grasses parted, and the hugebeast, nose to ground, stepped softly into view.

So frozen with horror was she that she could utter nosound, but the fixed and terrified gaze of her fear-widenedeyes spoke as plainly to Clayton as words. A quick glancebehind him revealed the hopelessness of their situation.The lion was scarce thirty paces from them, and they wereequally as far from the shelter. The man was armed witha stout stick--as efficacious against a hungry lion,he realized, as a toy pop-gun charged with a tethered cork.

Numa, ravenous with hunger, had long since learned thefutility of roaring and moaning as he searched for prey,but now that it was as surely his as though already he hadfelt the soft flesh beneath his still mighty paw, he opened hishuge jaws, and gave vent to his long-pent rage in a series ofdeafening roars that made the air tremble.

"Run, Jane!" cried Clayton. "Quick! Run for the shelter!"But her paralyzed muscles refused to respond, and she stoodmute and rigid, staring with ghastly countenance at theliving death creeping toward them.

Thuran, at the sound of that awful roar, had come tothe opening of the shelter, and as he saw the tableau belowhim he hopped up and down, shrieking to them in Russian.

"Run! Run!" he cried. "Run, or I shall be left all alone inthis horrible place," and then he broke down and commenced to weep.For a moment this new voice distracted the attention of thelion, who halted to cast an inquiring glance in the directionof the tree. Clayton could endure the strain no longer.Turning his back upon the beast, he buried his head inhis arms and waited.

The girl looked at him in horror. Why did he not dosomething? If he must die, why not die like a man--bravely;beating at that terrible face with his puny stick, no matter howfutile it might be. Would Tarzan of the Apes have done thus?Would he not at least have gone down to his death fightingheroically to the last?

Now the lion was crouching for the spring that would endtheir young lives beneath cruel, rending, yellow fangs.Jane Porter sank to her knees in prayer, closing her eyesto shut out the last hideous instant. Thuran, weakfrom fever, fainted.

Seconds dragged into minutes, long minutes into an eternity,and yet the beast did not spring. Clayton was almostunconscious from the prolonged agony of fright--hisknees trembled--a moment more and he would collapse.

Jane Porter could endure it no longer. She opened her eyes.Could she be dreaming?

"William," she whispered; "look!"

Clayton mastered himself sufficiently to raise his head andturn toward the lion. An ejaculation of surprise burst fromhis lips. At their very feet the beast lay crumpled in death.A heavy war spear protruded from the tawny hide. It hadentered the great back above the right shoulder, and, passingentirely through the body, had pierced the savage heart.

Jane Porter had risen to her feet; as Clayton turned backto her she staggered in weakness. He put out his arms tosave her from falling, and then drew her close tohim--pressing her head against his shoulder, he stoopedto kiss her in thanksgiving.

Gently the girl pushed him away.

"Please do not do that, William," she said. "I have lived athousand years in the past brief moments. I have learned inthe face of death how to live. I do not wish to hurt you morethan is necessary; but I can no longer bear to live out theimpossible position I have attempted because of a false senseof loyalty to an impulsive promise I made you.

"The last few seconds of my life have taught me that itwould be hideous to attempt further to deceive myself andyou, or to entertain for an instant longer the possibility ofever becoming your wife, should we regain civilization."

"Why, Jane," he cried, "what do you mean? What has ourprovidential rescue to do with altering your feelings toward me?You are but unstrung--tomorrow you will be yourself again."

"I am more nearly myself this minute than I have been forover a year," she replied. "The thing that has just happenedhas again forced to my memory the fact that the bravest manthat ever lived honored me with his love. Until it was toolate I did not realize that I returned it, and so I sent him away.He is dead now, and I shall never marry. I certainly couldnot wed another less brave than he without harboring constantlya feeling of contempt for the relative cowardice of my husband.Do you understand me?"

"Yes," he answered, with bowed head, his face mantlingwith the flush of shame.

And it was the next day that the great calamity befell.