"Kobo says that many, many, many moons ago, so great in number that no one can count them, our ancestors came from across the sea. That is all."
"I want to find out why they came and all about them and I feel that I can find out there. The great God I worship, who has preserved me from all the perils of the deep, will watch over me. I must go there."
"But not tonight. It is the one night when Kobo sleeps within. The spirits obey him. I know not what they might do."
"Tonight," answered Beekman, "I have better occupation."
"To be here with you, to love you with none by to look or listen." He pointed to a low, broad shelf of rock. "Sit there," he said, "and I will sit here at your feet." Throwing himself down, he leaned his elbow on her knee and looked up at her. "Do you know," he continued, "there is a land far across the sea, a land of brave men and beautiful women? They speak your language. Your fathers must have come from there as mine did. I want to find out. Some day we shall get back to the world and that land, you and I. I want to know all about you."
"That you are here, that I love you, is enough for me to know," whispered the woman, caressing his head with her hand.
He kissed the pretty palm and smiled up at her as he answered.
"You say there are other women in that land?"
"Holland. It is a low country that borders the sea."
"Would you love me if you should see others here?"
"You are the most beautiful woman on this island."
"And in the world," he whispered. "But no matter how others might look, they would be nothing to me."
And again he gave no thought to Stephanie Maynard nor to any other woman in the lands far away beyond the seas. She smiled down at him.
"It is my turn now," he went on. "There are other men there, bigger, stronger, wiser, handsomer men than I. When you shall see them--"
"I shall never see any one but you anywhere all my life," answered the girl, simply.
"I was to marry him only because he was the best."
"I shall do my best to keep you in that belief," answered Beekman. "Oh, Truda, beautiful, innocent little Truda, when I lay starving, dying on that barrier yonder, my hands red with the blood of men, parted apparently forever from all that made life worth while to me, I cursed my fortune and would fain have died, but now--"