“This, Ralph; that our wills, who are young and unlearned, are not all the world; that there are other wills to be thought of; the wills of our parents, or of mine rather, and the will of God.”

“For the first,” he answered, “I do not think that they stand in our path, for they love you and wish you to be happy, although it is true that I, who am but a wanderer picked up upon the veldt, have no fortune to offer you—­still fortune can be won,” he added doggedly.

“They love you also, Ralph, nor do they care over much for wealth, either of them, and I am sure that they would not wish you to leave us to go in search of it.”

“As for the will of God,” he continued, “it was the will of God that I should be wrecked here, and that you should save me here, and that the life you saved should be given to you.  Will it not, therefore, be the will of God also that we, who can never be happy apart, should be happy together and thank Him for our happiness every day till we die?”

“I trust so, Ralph; yet although I have read and seen little, I know that very often it has been His will that those who love each other should be separated by death or otherwise.”

“Do not speak of it,” he said with a groan.

“No, I will not speak of it, but there is one more thing of which I must speak.  Strangely enough, only this morning my mother was talking of you; she said that you are English, and that soon or late blood will call to blood and you will leave us.  She said that your nest is not here, but there, far away across the sea, among those English; that you are a swallow that has been fledged with sparrows, and that one day you will find the wings of a swallow.  What put it in her mind to speak thus, I do not know, but I do know, Ralph, that her words filled me with fear, and now I understand why I was so much afraid.”

He laughed aloud very scornfully.  “Then, Suzanne,” he said, “you may banish your fears, for this I swear to you, before the Almighty, that whoever may be my true kin, were a kingdom to be offered to me among them, unless you could share it, it would be refused.  This I swear before the Almighty, and may He reject me if I forget the oath.”

“You are very young to make such promises, Ralph,” she answered doubtfully, “nor do I hold them binding on you.  At nineteen, so I am told, a lad will swear anything to the girl who takes his fancy.”

“I am young in years, Suzanne, but I grew old while I was yet a child, for sorrow aged me.  You have heard my oath; let it be put to the test, and you shall learn whether or no I speak the truth.  Do I look like one who does not know his mind?”

She glanced up at the steady, grey eyes and the stern, set mouth and answered, “Ralph, you look like one who knows his mind, and I believe you.  Pray God I may not be deceived, for though we are but lad and girl, if it prove so I tell you that I shall live my life out with a broken heart.”