“Oh, Burke—­darling!” she said.

He drew a hard breath, controlling himself with an effort.  “I’d have cut off my right hand to save him, but it was no good.  It came to me afterwards—­that you were the one who might have done it.  But it was too late then.  Besides—­besides—­” he spoke as if something within him battled fiercely for utterance—­“I couldn’t have endured it—­standing by.  Not you—­not you!”

She put up a hand, and stroked his face.  “I belonged to you from the first moment I saw you,” she said.

“Sylvia!” He moved abruptly, taking her by the shoulders so that he might look into her eyes.  “That is—­the truth?” he said.

She met his look steadfastly.  “Of course it is the truth!” she said.  “Could I tell you anything else?”

He held her still.  “But—­Sylvia——­”

Her hands were clasped against his breast.  “It is the truth,” she said again.  “I didn’t realize it myself at first.  It came to me—­quite suddenly—­that day of the sand-storm—­the day Guy saved your life.”

“Ah!” he said.

She went on with less assurance.  “It frightened me—­when I knew.  I was so afraid you would find out.”

“But why?” he said.  “Why?”

She shook her head, and suddenly her eyes fell before his.  She looked almost childishly ashamed.

“Won’t you tell me why?” he said.

She made a small, impulsive movement of protest.  “I didn’t—­quite—­trust you,” she said.

“But you knew I loved you!” he said.

She shook her head again with vehemence.  “I didn’t know—­I didn’t know!  How could I?  Why, you have never told me so—­even now.”

“Great heavens!” he said, as if aghast.

Very oddly his unexpected discomfiture restored her confidence.  She faced him again.  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said.  “You needn’t begin at this stage.  I’ve found out for myself—­as you might have done long ago if you hadn’t been quite blind.  But I’m rather glad, after all, that you didn’t, because—­you learnt to trust me without.  It was dear of you to trust me, Burke.  I don’t know how you managed it.”

“I would trust you to the world’s end—­blindfold,” he said.  “I know you.”

“Yes, now.  But you didn’t then.  When you found me in the hut—­with Guy,” her voice quivered a little—­“you didn’t know—­then—­that I was with him because he was too ill to be there alone.”

“And to protect him from me,” Burke said.

“Yes; that too.”  She laid her cheek suddenly against his hand.  “Forgive me for that!” she said.

He drew her head back to his shoulder.  “No—­you had reason enough for fearing me,” he said.  “God alone knows what brought you back to me.”

She leaned against him with a little sigh.  “Yes, He knows,” she said softly, “just as He knows what made you stay behind to die alone.  It was the same reason with us both.  Don’t you understand?”