“But you must think of it.  I can’t do all the thinking.”

“Lord Huntingford may not be dead,” she said, turning pale with the possibility.

“I can swear that he is.  He was one of the first to perish.  I don’t believe you know what love is even now, or you would answer my question.”

“Don’t be so petulant, please.  It is a serious matter to consider, as well as an absurd one, situated as we are.  Now, if I should say that I will be your wife, what then?”

“But you haven’t said it,” he persisted.

“Hugh, dear, I would become your wife to-day, to-morrow—­any time, if it were possible.”

“That’s what I wanted you to say.”

“But until we are taken from this island to some place where there is an altar, how can we be married, Hugh?”

“Now, that’s something for you to think about.  It’s almost worried the life out of me.”

By this time they had reached the temple.  She flung herself carelessly into the hammock, a contented sigh coming from her lips.  He leaned against a post near by.

“I am perfectly satisfied here, Hugh,” she said tantalizingly.  “I’ve just been thinking that I am safer here.”

“Safer?”

“To be sure, dear.  If we live here always there can be no one to disturb us, you know.  Has it ever occurred to you that some one else may claim you if we go back to the world?  And Lord Huntingford may be waiting for me down at the dock, too.  I think I shall object to being rescued,” she said demurely.

“Well, if he is alive, you can get a divorce from him on the ground of desertion.  I can swear that he deserted you on the night of the wreck.  He all but threw you overboard.”

“Let me ask a question of you.  Suppose we should be rescued and you find Grace alive and praying for your return, loving you more than ever.  What would become of her if you told her that you loved me and what would become of me if you married her?”

He gulped down a great lump and the perspiration oozed from his pores.  Her face was troubled and full of earnestness.

“What could I say to her?” He began to pace back and forth beneath the awning.  She watched him pityingly, understanding his struggle.

“Now you know, Hugh, why I want to live here forever.  I have thought of all this,” she said softly, holding out her hand to him.  He took it feverishly, gaining courage from its gentle touch.

“It is better that she should mourn for me as dead,” he said at last, “than to have me come back to her with love for another in my breast.  Nedra is the safest place in all the world, after all, dearest.  I can’t bear to think of her waiting for me if she is alive, waiting to—­to be my wife.  Poor, poor girl!”

“We have been unhappy enough for to-day.  Let us forget the world and all its miseries, now that we both love the island well enough to live and die on its soil.  Have you thought how indescribably alone we are, perhaps for the rest of our lives?  Years and years may be spent here.  Let them all be sweet and good and happy.  You know I would be your wife if I could, but I cannot unless Providence takes us by the hands and lifts us to the land where some good man can say:  ’Whom God hath joined, let not man put asunder.’”