know that thou lovest but me? How can I know that thou wilt
not weary of me and seek thine own place again, leaving me desolate?
Who is there to tell me but that thou lovest some other woman,
some fair woman unknown to me, but who yet draws breath beneath
this same moon that shines on me tonight? Tell me _how_ am I to
know?' And she clasped her hands and stretched them out towards
him and looked appealingly into his face.

'Nyleptha,' answered Sir Henry, adopting the Zu-Vendi way of
speech; 'I have told thee that I love thee; how am I to tell
thee how much I love thee? Is there then a measure for love?
Yet will I try. I say not that I have never looked upon another
woman with favour, but this I say that I love thee with all my
life and with all my strength; that I love thee now and shall
love thee till I grow cold in death, ay, and as I believe beyond
my death, and on and on for ever: I say that thy voice is music
to my ear, and thy touch as water to a thirsty land, that when
thou art there the world is beautiful, and when I see thee not
it is as though the light was dead. Oh, Nyleptha, I will never
leave thee; here and now for thy dear sake I will forget my people
and my father's house, yea, I renounce them all. By thy side
will I live, Nyleptha, and at thy side will I die.'

He paused and gazed at her earnestly, but she hung her head like
a lily, and said never a word.

'Look!' he went on, pointing to the statue on which the moonlight
played so brightly. 'Thou seest that angel woman who rests her
hand upon the forehead of the sleeping man, and thou seest how
at her touch his soul flames up and shines out through his flesh,
even as a lamp at the touch of the fire, so is it with me and
thee, Nyleptha. Thou hast awakened my soul and called it forth,
and now, Nyleptha, it is not mine, not mine, but _thine_ and thine
only. There is no more for me to say; in thy hands is my life.'
And he leaned back against the pedestal of the statue, looking
very pale, and his eyes shining, but proud and handsome as a god.

Slowly, slowly she raised her head, and fixed her wonderful eyes,
all alight with the greatness of her passion, full upon his face,
as though to read his very soul. Then at last she spoke, low
indeed, but clearly as a silver bell.

'Of a truth, weak woman that I am, I do believe thee. Ill will
be the day for thee and for me also if it be my fate to learn
that I have believed a lie. And now hearken to