The tarpaulin would yield them some degree of uneasy protection, and they both were in perfect physical condition.

But--if Iris were wounded! If the extra strain brought fever in its wake! That way he saw nothing but blank despair, to be ended, for her, by delirium and merciful death, for him by a Berserk rush among the Dyaks, and one last mad fight against overwhelming numbers.
Then the girl's voice reached him, self-reliant, almost cheerful-- "You will be glad to hear that the cut has stopped bleeding.

It is only a scratch." So a kindly Providence had spared them yet a little while.

The cloud passed from his mind, the gathering mist from his eyes.

In that instant he thought he detected a slight rustling among the trees where the cliff shelved up from the house.