"Savitre," Leone said suddenly, "would you be willing to leave your country—to go with me to Portugal?"
Savitre gazed at him in some wonderment.
"Surely you are not thinking of leaving India?" she cried, a sudden anxiety dawning in her dark eyes.
"Yes; my father wishes me to return, and as soon as Lianor is married we are going."
The girl remained silent; only a few pearly tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Savitre, dearest one, do not weep! Would it be so dreadful for you to quit the country?"
"It is not that," with a stifled sob; "but I had not thought of your leaving us, or the friendship between us being broken."
"Nor will it, my darling! Don't you understand? I love you too dearly to give you up; I want you to be my wife, so that none can part us. Say my hopes are not all in vain!"
A vivid flush mantled the clear, dark skin, and the lustrous eyes drooped in confusion.
"You really mean that? You love me, a girl who is not even of your own kind?"