could hear her scornful laughter, should he present, to help adorn her
court, a savage Indian girl! No, a thousand times no! Such disgrace he
could not suffer. Nor was the maid herself, so he defended himself,
fitted for such a life. Soon would she be as unhappy in England as he
would be to have her there. Besides, she was but a child. Else had she
never so far forgot all womanly dignity as to force herself upon him,
and being but a child she would soon forget. Gently he made to raise her
to her feet.

"Wildenai, little wild rose," he began again, "what thou hast asked of
me thou dost well know thyself is an unheard of thing. Much as I owe to
thee, and well know I that 'tis so much I never can repay it; still for
thine own sweet sake 'tis not in this way thy reward must come. The long
journey and the strange new life would kill thee, Wildenai." Having once
begun he stumbled on, but half aware of how each word he uttered hurt
her, eager only to have done with the whole sorry scene. "Thou art but a
little wild flower. Thou couldst not live away from this, thy sunny
island. Can'st thou not understand, my Wildenai?"

He paused, waiting for a reply; but the maiden answered nothing. Silent
she lay as though in very truth she were a wild flower tossed to earth
and trampled upon by some uncaring foot.

At last the man could bear it no longer. Forcibly he loosed her hands
and stepped back. For a moment longer he lingered, looking down upon her
in mingled impatience and regret; then, turning abruptly, he passed
hastily out of the cavern and down the trail to the beach.

Still the girl lay motionless. It was as if every sense were stunned,
all power of thought suspended except to grasp the one fact that made