I shudder when I think of how that caveman struck you down with his club. You really had no chance. And with that same club, while I was prisoner, he tried to make love to me. It is hard for me to realize today that such a brutal man should have let me off so easily, but then I suppose I should thank Cintani for this. She poisoned the entire tribe, at least, so I think, as mentioned in my first letter. When we escaped that night I took a last look at those cruel people and they were all lying silently on the ground—a veritable court of the dead.
After all, I believe cavemen to a certain extent are chivalrous to women. If it were not so, I would not be alive today. I would have taken the poison myself. You should have seen the way in which those women loved their mates—yet their affection is secured and held by the club. I wonder how it would be if you were king of the cavemen? But I suppose now that you are again in the company of the New York girls you no longer care for your “desert flower.” Was it after all, but a Fata Morgana that we held in our arms while sitting on the beach? Write me, dear, as I have been so lonesome since you left. I feel as if I were standing alone on a huge sand wave in the great desert, not certain of my foundation.
But I do trust in you and I often thank our Lord that He sent you to me to save my life. How can I ever repay you? All I can give you is my devotion and love. Love is life. So come to my arms.
Cintani, the little slave-girl, is staying at my home. I am so grateful to her. If it had not been for her pluck the chances are I should not now be writing this letter.
De Rochelle, as I wrote you, will shortly leave for France. My mother tells me he has recovered his strength although I have not seen him since my return.
He promised to stay away from me and so far he has kept good that promise. To think that he should have set Amshied’s place on fire while you and I were there. He claims he did it to save me from Amshied, but this is probably on the same par with his desire to have me jump from the bridge.
I am enclosing herewith my tombstone inscription “Here Sana, rest in peace....” As you now know you certainly did exaggerate. It is seldom that one has the opportunity of reading the inscription on one’s own gravemarker. But when I saw the grave you had made, I could not keep from crying. I want to tell you how I appreciate your kind manly spirit. You are just wonderful and I wish we were together now. But alas, I shall have to have patience.
With love and many kisses and regards from mother, yours as ever,
Sana.
Carl read the letter a second time. Then resting back in his arm chair he smiled. And yet the close observer might have perceived that his eyes were veiled with a slight mist—tears of joy that welled up from the soul.