They beached the craft, and the girl leapt on the sand. Up and down its almost perfect curve the black eyes swept, then watched the break in the palm-grove.
It was an archway leading into a green paradise. But the girl did not drink in the loveliness which she could see beyond. Her trembling eyes were thirsting for another sight—that of a youth about five feet nine or thereabouts; in wide-bottomed sailor's trousers; with body a trifle square-built but very straight; a little deliberate in speech and thought, but very sure in each; a clear-shaven face, also a little square at chin and temples—with the rough red and tan of the open on it; and honest, never-shrinking blue eyes, holding just the right measure of devotion and boldness to win and keep the heart of a girl.
Fitting him perfectly, was a homely, old-fashioned name by which she had often called him in those moments that verged as near on tenderness as shy young lovers ever dare, the restraint making more precious the slightest gesture or word of affection. "Ben True-Blue" it was, and that the trembling lips uttered now, as she stood on the sand, straight and graceful as a young silver-birch in spring, and trembling like that, too.
But instead of the picture which her memory painted, through the archway came a swarthy savage—at best a figure semi-civilized bare of leg and girt about the trunks and thighs with an untanned skin. He was shaggy-bearded and burnt to a coppery-brown. Over his back hung a crude bow, and from his arms two braces of wild birds. On his shoulder swayed a giant macaw of many brilliant colours, and
