'But I am not there,' she whispered, almost in a moan. 'Why should a
dog be there and not I?' Still getting no word from me, she turned
her eyes full on mine and repeated the question imperatively, almost
indignantly. 'Why should it be a dog?--and not _I_, over whom you
never hated?'
"'Santa,' said I, 'if there were such an island as you see--'
"'But there _is_,' she interrupted quick as thought. 'There _is_,
and it is near, though I shall not see it, except from the boat.'
"'Say, then, that there is such an island--' said I. It was just
possible: for during the last two days we had sighted many sea-birds.
"'And near--quite near,' she insisted. 'It has groves of coco-trees,
and streams tumbling down the rocks--on which no boat can row with
men cursing in her and fighting with knives.'
"'Then you shall land on that island, O beloved!' said I, 'and we
will live on it, and love--'
"'Ah, I know what you mean! You mean as they love in heaven? Yes.'
And she added quite simply. 'I have had great trouble with men.'
"'Not exactly as in heaven,' said I, and took out from a
breast-pocket under my jumper a small flask of yellow Chartreuse,
which I had snatched up among other small belongings from my
state-room locker ten minutes before the _Eurotas_ went down.
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