"I mean what I say," was the answer. "I want _you_. I cannot live without you. I want to take care of you. I want to devote my life to making you happy. I want to make you forget this terrible experience and tragedy. You are lonely and I worship you. I want you to marry me--when you can--later--and let me serve you for the rest of my life. Make me the happiest and proudest man in the world and I will strive to be the noblest." He was very English then--in his fine passion. He took her hand and it was not withdrawn. He bent to look in her eyes, she smiled, and in a second was in his embrace, strained to his breast, her lips crushed by his. For a minute he could not speak. "I cannot believe it," he whispered at length. "Is this a dream?" "You are a very concrete dream--dear," said Mrs. Dearman, re-arranging crushed and disarranged flowers at her breast, blushing and laughing shyly. The man was filled with awe, reverence and a deep longing for worthiness. The woman felt happy in the sense of safety, of power, of pride in the love of so fine a being. "And how long have you loved me?" she murmured. "Loved you, Cleopatra? Dearest--I have loved you from the moment my eyes first fell on you.... Poor salt-encrusted, weary, bloodshot eyes they were too," he added, smiling, reminiscent. "What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Dearman, puzzled. "Ah--I have a secret to tell you--a confession that will open those beautiful eyes wide with surprise. I first saw you when you _were_ Cleopatra Brighte." "Good gracious!" ejaculated Mrs. Dearman in great surprise. "When_ever_ when?" "I'll tell you," said the man, smiling fondly. "You have my photograph. You took it yourself--on board the 'Malaya'." "I?" said Mrs. Dearman. "What _are_ you talking about?" "About you, dearest, and the time when I first saw you--and fell in love with you;--love at first sight, indeed." "But I never photographed you on board ship. I never saw you on a ship. I met you first here in Gungapur." "Do you remember the 'Malaya' stopping to pick up a shipwrecked sailor, a castaway, in a little dug-out canoe, somewhere in the Indian Ocean, when you were first coming out to India? But of course you do--you have the snap-shot in your collection...." "Why--yes--I remember, of course--but that was a horrid, beastly _native_. The creature could only speak Hindustani. He was the sole survivor of the crew of some dhow or bunder-boat, they said.... He lived and worked with the Lascars till we got to Bombay. Yes...." "I was that native," said Colonel Ross-Ellison. "_You_," whispered Mrs. Dearman. "_You_," and scanned his face intently. "Yes. I. I _am_ half a native. My father was a Pathan. He----" "_What_?" asked the woman hoarsely, drawing away. "_What_? _What_ are you saying?" "I am half Pathan--my father was a Pathan and my mother an Australian squatter's daughter."