."

After a pause he added, "Something may have happened to Father Burke or
to Louise."

"But even then," said Elinor, turning toward him, "wouldn't they try and
discover why I had not arrived? And wouldn't they hunt _you_ up?"

"No, I was to be a surprise. None of them knew I was coming. They think
I am still in South Africa."

There was a long silence, broken at last by Pats. "What a hideous
practical joke I have turned out! In the first place I strand you here
and--"

"No! I was very unjust that day and have repented--and tried to atone."

"Atone! You! Angels defend us! If atonement was due from you, where am
I? Instead of getting you away, I go out of my head and have a
fever--and am fed--like a baby."

She smiled. "That is hardly your fault."

"Yes, it is. No _man_ would do it. Pugs and Persian cats do that
sort of thing. For men there are proper times for giving out. But there
is one thing I should like to say--that is, that my life is yours. This
skeleton belongs to you, and the soul that goes with it. Henceforth I
shall be your slave. I do not aspire to be treated as your equal; just
an abject, reverent, willing slave."

She smiled and played with the ears of the sleeping Solomon.

"I am serious," and Pats raised himself on one elbow. "Just from plain,
unvarnished gratitude--if from nothing else--I shall always do whatever
you command--live, die, steal, commit murder, scrub floors, anything--I
don't care what."

"Do you really mean it?"

"I do."

"Then stop talking."

With closed eyes he fell back into his former position. But again,
partially raising himself, he asked, "May I say just one thing more?"

"No."

Again he fell back, and there was silence.

For a time Elinor sat with folded hands gazing dreamily beyond the point
over the distant gulf, a dazzling, vivid blue beneath the July sun. When
at last she turned with a question upon her lips and saw the closed eyes
and tranquil breathing of the convalescent, she held her peace. Then
came a drowsy sense of her own fatigue. Cautiously, that the sleeper
might not awake, she also reclined, at full length, and closed her eyes.
Delicious was the soft air: restful the carpet of pine-needles. No
cradle-song could be more soothing than the muffled voices of the pines:
and the lady slept.

But Pats was not asleep. He soon opened his eyes and gazed dreamily
upward among the branches overhead, then moved his eyes in her
direction. For an easier s