("It is this letter which she has given to the Governor," he thought. "Why, the devil! did I forget the rendezvous?")
He laughed. "As far apart as the poles." Then he sobered. "My rightful name, Miss Stirling, is Roger de Lysle. I am the second son of the ninth Earl of Doncaster."
"Is this identity any more stable than the other?" she asked, after a pause.
"It is—though I cannot blame you for doubting."
"How did you come by the letters of introduction?"
"Parkington's dead body was cast up on the sands beside me. I took his letters, and, in a fit of foolishness, presented them to Governor Sharpe—my own having been lost in the sea."
"And why do you tell this story to me?" she inquired.
"To set myself right with you. I shall go back to England, and no one else will ever know that it was not Sir Edward Parkington who sojourned among them."
"And why should I concern you—why wish me to know it and the others not."
"Because I love you," he answered. "From the first day I met you, I have loved you."