The sailor put his arm round her neck and gently pressed her lips
together. Anything would serve as an excuse for that sort of thing, but
he really did want absolute silence at that moment. If the Mussulman
kept his compact, the hour was at hand.

An unlooked-for intruder disturbed the quietude of the scene. Their old
acquaintance, the singing beetle, chortled his loud way across the
park. Iris was dying--as women say--to remind Jenks of their first
meeting with that blatant insect, but further talk was impossible;
there was too much at stake--water they must have.

Then the light hiss of a snake rose to them from the depths. That is a
sound never forgotten when once heard. It is like unto no other.
Indeed, the term "hiss" is a misnomer for the quick sibilant expulsion
of the breath by an alarmed or angered serpent.

Iris paid no heed to it, but Jenks, who knew there was not a reptile of
the snake variety on the island, leaned over the ledge and emitted a
tolerably good imitation. The native was beneath. Probably the flight
of the beetle had helped his noiseless approach.

"Sahib!"

The girl started at the unexpected call from the depths.

"Yes," said Jenks quietly.

"A rope, sahib."