"I'm not exactly sure that you do," she answered candidly. "But I'll see if I can't let by-gones be by-gones. Remember, however, if I do take you on you must both show me that my trust is not misplaced."
"For myself I will promise that."
"It may surprise you to hear that I am not so much afraid of your mate as of yourself. I have seen his face, and I think I like it."
"I'm certain you're right. I am a weak man; he is not. If either of us fails you, I don't think it will be Murkard."
"I like you better for sticking up for your friend."
"I am sorry for that, because you may think I do it for effect."
"I'll be better able to tell you about that later on. Now go."
He raised his hat and crossed from the veranda to the hut. Murkard was awake and was sitting up on the bed.
"Thank Heaven you've come back, old man. Where the deuce am I, and how did I get here? My memory's gone all to pieces, and, from the parched condition of my tongue, my interior must be following it. Have I been ill, or what?"
"You've been jolly near drowned, if that's any consolation to you. We were swimming the strait, don't you remember, when you suddenly collapsed. You gave me an awful fright."