Six savages lying on the sand far above them saw the strange scene down near the splashing surf and looked blankly at each other.  They had never known their Izors to act in that manner, and their benighted minds were troubled.

“Oh, Hugh, those men are looking at us,” she protested, after the first moments of joy.

“Let them look,” he cried.  “You should pity them, dear, for until a few moments ago you were as much in the dark as to the meaning of love as they are now.  You were a perfect heathen.”

“You are no longer the harlequin.  You have become the wizard.”

“But it isn’t a pantomine,” he said.

The shadows were falling and darkness was settling about them as they passed between the giant rocks and into Velvet Valley, his arm around her waist.  This new emotion deprived them of the desire to talk.  There was a conscious flush in her cheeks, a queer restraint in her voice, a curious timidity in her manner when they sat before the rude table in the temple and partook of food that had never tasted so sweet before; though neither could eat of it.  Something had satisfied the grosser appetite; something was tugging and choking the old into submission while the new was crowding into its realm, buoyantly, inflatingly.

They sat in front of the temple until far in the night, revelling in the beauty of the new nature.  The whole world seemed different to them as they regarded it through the eyes of love; the moonlit sky was more glorious than ever before; the sombre stillness of the night was more restful; the atmosphere was sweet with the breath of passion; the sports of the savages had a fresh novelty; the torches in front of the king’s home flickered with a merrier brilliancy.

All Ridgehunt was awake and celebrating, for it was a festal night.  King Pootoo had taken unto himself a new wife, adding one more to the household of his heart.  There were dances and sports and all manner of festivities in honor of the event, for it was not oftener than twice a year that the king took a new wife unto his bosom.  The white people never knew where the ceremony began.  They only knew that on this night of all nights the father of the bride had led her to the king and had drawn with his spear a circle in the soft earth.

Inside of this circle the girl prostrated herself before the groom-elect and the marriage was complete when the royal giant stepped into the wedding ring and lifted her to her feet, leading her to a place among her predecessors, who sat on the ground near by.  Then the celebration ran to its highest pitch.  Late in the night the weird revelry ceased and the two spectators entered the temple, her hand in his.  He led her to the curtained door of her apartment.

“Good-night, dear one,” he said softly.  She turned her face to his and he held her for an instant to his heart, their lips meeting in a long thrill of ecstasy.

“Good-night,” she whispered.  He pulled the curtain aside and she slowly entered the room.  For an hour afterward he lay awake, wondering what manner of love it was he had given to Grace Vernon.  It was not like this.

It was barely daylight when he arose from his couch, dressed and started for a brisk walk over the hills.  His ramble was a long one and the village was astir when he came through the woodland, some distance from the temple.  Expecting to find Tennys waiting for him, he hastened to their abode.  She evidently had not arisen, so, with a tinge of disappointment, he went to his room.  Then he heard her, with her women, taking her morning plunge in the pool.  The half hour before she made her appearance seemed a day to him.  They met in the hallway, he glad and expectant, she shy and diffident.  The red that burned in her cheeks turned to white when he kissed her, and her eyelids fell tremblingly with the proof positive that she had not dreamed the exquisite story of the night before.

Later in the morning they called on the king, and that individual promptly prostrated himself.  They found the new bride repairing a section of the king’s palace that had been blown down by a recent hurricane.  Before the white people left, Tennys had the satisfaction and Hugh the amusement of seeing the big chief repairing the rent and the bride taking a rest.

“I’ve been thinking pretty hard this morning, dear,” he said as they walked back to the temple, “especially when I was alone in the forest.”

“Can’t you think unless you are alone?” she asked, smiling.

“We all think differently sometimes when we are alone, you know.  I was just thinking what a dickens of a position we are in for a pair of lovers.”

“It seems to me that it is ideal.”

“But where is the minister or magistrate?”

“What have they to do with it?”

“Everything, I should say.  We can’t get married without one or the other,” he blurted out.  She stopped stockstill with a gasp.

“Get married?  Why why, we have said nothing of getting married.”

“And that’s just why I am speaking of it now.  I want you to be my wife, Tennys.  Will you be my wife, dear?” he asked nervously.

“How absurd, Hugh.  We may be on this island forever, and how are we to be married here?  Besides, I had not thought of it.”

“But you must think of it.  I can’t do all the thinking.”

“Lord Huntingford may not be dead,” she said, turning pale with the possibility.

“I can swear that he is.  He was one of the first to perish.  I don’t believe you know what love is even now, or you would answer my question.”

“Don’t be so petulant, please.  It is a serious matter to consider, as well as an absurd one, situated as we are.  Now, if I should say that I will be your wife, what then?”

“But you haven’t said it,” he persisted.

“Hugh, dear, I would become your wife to-day, to-morrow any time, if it were possible.”

“That’s what I wanted you to say.”

“But until we are taken from this island to some place where there is an altar, how can we be married, Hugh?”

“Now, that’s something for you to think about.  It’s almost worried the life out of me.”

By this time they had reached the temple.  She flung herself carelessly into the hammock, a contented sigh coming from her lips.  He leaned against a post near by.

“I am perfectly satisfied here, Hugh,” she said tantalizingly.  “I’ve just been thinking that I am safer here.”

“Safer?”

“To be sure, dear.  If we live here always there can be no one to disturb us, you know.  Has it ever occurred to you that some one else may claim you if we go back to the world?  And Lord Huntingford may be waiting for me down at the dock, too.  I think I shall object to being rescued,” she said demurely.

“Well, if he is alive, you can get a divorce from him on the ground of desertion.  I can swear that he deserted you on the night of the wreck.  He all but threw you overboard.”

“Let me ask a question of you.  Suppose we should be rescued and you find Grace alive and praying for your return, loving you more than ever.  What would become of her if you told her that you loved me and what would become of me if you married her?”

He gulped down a great lump and the perspiration oozed from his pores.  Her face was troubled and full of earnestness.

“What could I say to her?” He began to pace back and forth beneath the awning.  She watched him pityingly, understanding his struggle.

“Now you know, Hugh, why I want to live here forever.  I have thought of all this,” she said softly, holding out her hand to him.  He took it feverishly, gaining courage from its gentle touch.

“It is better that she should mourn for me as dead,” he said at last, “than to have me come back to her with love for another in my breast.  Nedra is the safest place in all the world, after all, dearest.  I can’t bear to think of her waiting for me if she is alive, waiting to to be my wife.  Poor, poor girl!”

“We have been unhappy enough for to-day.  Let us forget the world and all its miseries, now that we both love the island well enough to live and die on its soil.  Have you thought how indescribably alone we are, perhaps for the rest of our lives?  Years and years may be spent here.  Let them all be sweet and good and happy.  You know I would be your wife if I could, but I cannot unless Providence takes us by the hands and lifts us to the land where some good man can say:  ’Whom God hath joined, let not man put asunder.’”

The next day after breakfast she took him by the hand and led him to the little knoll down by the hills.  Her manner was resolute; there was a charm in it that thrilled him with expectancy.

“If we are not rescued within a year’s time, it is hardly probable that we will ever be found, is it?” she asked reflectively.

“They may find us to-morrow and they may never see the shores of this island.”

“But as they have not already discovered it, there is certainly some reason.  We are in a part of the sea where vessels do not venture, that is evident,” she argued persuasively.

“But why do you ask?”

“Because you want me to be your wife,” she said, looking him frankly in the eye.

“I can only pray that we may be found,” he said wistfully.

“And in case we are never found?”

“I shall probably die an old bachelor,” he laughed grimly.  For some moments she was in a deep study, evidently questioning the advisability or propriety of giving expression to what was in her mind.

“Are there not a great many methods of observing the marriage ceremony, Hugh?  And are they not all sacred?” she asked seriously.

“What are you trying to get at, dear?”

“I may as well tell you what I have been thinking of since last night.  You will not consider me bold and unwomanly, I know, but I want to be your wife.  We may never leave this island, but we can be married here.”

“Married here!” he exclaimed.  “You mean ”

“I mean that the ceremony of these natives can be made as sacred in the eye of God as any in all the world.  Nine-tenths or more of all the marriages in the world are crimes, because man, not God, welds the bonds.  Therefore, I say frankly to you, Hugh, that I will marry you some day according to the custom of these people, as sacred to me as that of any land on earth.”

At first he could hardly believe that he had heard aright, but as she progressed and he saw the nobility, the sincerity, of her declaration, a wave of reverential love swept through his heart.  The exaltation of a moment before was quelled, destroyed by a sacred, solemn regard for her.  There was a lump in his throat as he bent over and gently took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips.

“Are you sure of yourself, darling?” he whispered.

“I could not have spoken had I not been sure.  I am very sure of myself.  I trust you so fully that I am sure of you as well.”

He kissed her rapturously.

“God bless you.  I can hardly breathe for the joy I feel.”

“But you do not say you will marry me,” she smiled.

“You shall be my wife to-day,” he cried.

“I beg your pardon,” she said gaily, “but as the bride I am the arbiter of time.  If in a year from now we are still here, I will be your wife.”

“A year!  Great heaven!  Impossible!  I won’t wait that long.  Now be sensible, Tennys.”

“I am very sensible.  While I am willing to recognize the sacredness of the marriage laws here, I must say that I prefer those of my own land.  We must wait a year for deliverance.  If it does not come, then I will ”

“But that’s three hundred and sixty-five days an age.  Make it a month, dear.  A month is a long, long time, too.”

“A year is a long time,” she mused.  “I will marry you on the twenty-third of next May.”

“Six months!” he exclaimed reprovingly.

“You must accept the decision.  It is final.”