perspiring skin and made life somewhat tolerable.

Still adhering to his policy of combatting the first enervating attacks
of thirst, the sailor sanctioned the consumption of the remaining
water. As a last desperate expedient, to be resorted to only in case of
sheer necessity, he uncorked a bottle of champagne and filled the tin
cup. The sparkling wine, with its volume of creamy foam, looked so
tempting that Iris would then and there have risked its potency were
she not promptly withheld.

Jenks explained to her that when the wine became quite flat and insipid
they might use it to moisten their parched lips. Even so, in their
present super-heated state, the liquor was unquestionably dangerous,
but he hoped it would not harm them if taken in minute quantities.

Accustomed now to implicitly accept his advice, she fought and steadily
conquered the craving within her. Oddly enough, the "thawing" of their
scorched bodies beneath the tarpaulin brought a certain degree of
relief. They were supremely uncomfortable, but that was as naught
compared with the relaxation from the torments previously borne.

For a long time--the best part of an hour, perhaps--they remained
silent.

The sailor was reviewing the pros and cons of their precarious
condition. It would, of course, be a matter of supreme importance were
the Indian to be faithful to his promise. Here the prospect was
decidedly hopeful. The man was an old _sowar_, and the ex-officer
of native cavalry knew how enduring was the attachment of this poor
convict to home and military service. Probably at that moment the