She was the soul of honor, for a woman, but there was never a woman yet who could take her eyes off a written document which confronted her. She could not help seeing that one small morsel contained her own name. Though mutilated it had clearly read--Miss Deane."
"So it _was_ intended for me!" she cried, throwing down her bundle and dropping to her knees. She secured that particular slip and examined it earnestly. Not for worlds would she pick up all the scraps and endeavor to sort them. Yet they had a fascination for her, and at this closer range she saw another which bore the legend--"I love you!"
Somehow the two seemed to fit together very nicely.
Yet a third carried the same words--"I love you!" They were still quite coherent. She did not want to look any further. She did not even turn over such of the torn pieces as had fluttered to earth face downwards.
Opening the front of her bodice she brought to light a small gold locket containing miniatures of her father and mother. Inside this receptacle she carefully placed the three really material portions of the sailor's letter. When Jenks walked down the hill again he heard her singing long before he caught sight of her, sedulously tending the fire.
As he came near he perceived the remains of his useless document. He stooped and gathered them up, forthwith throwing them among the glowing logs.
"By the way, what were you writing whilst I had my bath?" inquired Iris, demurely.
"Some information about the mine. On second thoughts, however, I saw it was unnecessary."
He glanced sharply at her, but she was merely talking at random.
"Well, you see," he explained, "one can do so little without the requisite plant. This sort of ore requires a crushing-mill, a smelting furnace, perhaps big tanks filled with cyanide of potassium."
"And, of course, although you can do wonders, you cannot provide all those things, can you?"
Jenks deemed this query to be unanswerable.
They were busy again until night fell. Sitting down for a little while before retiring to rest, they discussed, for the hundredth time, the probabilities of speedy succor. This led them to the topic of available supplies, and the sailor told Iris the dispositions he had made.