"Me—love me? Do you mean it?" He was tremulous with happiness, and his voice broke—"Dearest."
Her face was upturned to his, her lips so near; he felt her heart beating as furiously as his own. He kissed her—her lips, her eyes, her dear hair——
"O, God, I'm happy!" she sobbed, "so—so happy——"
Sanders sprang ashore just as the sun was rising, and came thoughtfully through the undergrowth to the camp. Abiboo, squatting by the curtained bed, did not rise. Sanders walked to the bed, pulled aside the mosquito netting, and bent over the man who lay there.
Then he drew the curtains again, lit his pipe slowly, and looked down at Abiboo.
"When did he die?" he asked.
"In the dark of the morning, master," said the man.
Sanders nodded slowly. "Why did you not send for me?"
For a moment the squatting figure made no reply, then he rose and stretched himself.