Amiria smiled. “You don’t understand,” she said. “But never mind; if you love me, that’s all right. We will talk of marrying by and by.”
Scarlett stood astonished. His mind, trained in the strict code of a sternly-proper British parish, failed to grasp the fact that a Maori girl regards matters of the heart from the standpoint of a child of Nature; having her code of honour, it is true, but one which is hardly comprehended by the civilised Pakeha.
Jack felt he was standing upon the dizzy abyss that leads to loss of caste. There was no doubt of Amiria’s beauty, there was no doubt of her passionate affection, but there was a feeling at the back of his mind that his regard for her was merely a physical attraction. He admired every curve of her supple shape, he felt his undying gratitude go out to the preserver of his life, but that was all. Yet a weakness was stealing over him, that weakness which is proportionate usually to the large-heartedness of the individual.
Suddenly relinquishing Amiria’s clasp, he went to the broken port-hole of a dilapidated cabin and looked out upon the incoming sea.
“We must be quick,” he cried, “or we shall be caught by the tide.”
“What matter?” said the girl, lazily. “I have stayed here a whole night when the sea was not as calm as it is now.”
“But I have to get back to town—I start for the gold-fields to-morrow, before daylight.”
“Why do you go to the stupid gold-fields? Isn’t there everything a man wants here? The pa is full of food—you shall want for nothing.”
“I suppose it is the Pakeha way to want to grow rich. Come along.”
He clambered down to where the broken keelson lay, and regained the rocks. Amiria followed him slowly, as though reluctant to leave the scene of her confession, but presently she stood beside him on the slippery seaweed.