Quickly through the man's mind was running the gamut of his past. He recalled his careful and tender upbringing--the time, the money, the fond pride that had been expended upon his education. He thought of the result--the narrow-minded, weakling egoist; the pusillanimous coward that had been washed from the deck of a passing steamer upon the sandy beach of this savage, forgotten shore. And yet it had been love, solicitous and tender, that had prompted his parents to their misguided efforts. He was their only son. They were doubtless grieving for him. They were no longer young, and in their declining years it appeared to him a pathetic thing that they should be robbed of the happiness which he might bring them by returning to the old life. But could he ever return to the bookish existence that once had seemed so pleasant? Had not this brief year into which had been crowded so much of wild, primitive life made impossible a return to the narrow, self-centered existence? Had it not taught him that there was infinitely more in life than ever had been written into the dry and musty pages of books? It had taught him to want life at first hand--not through the proxy of the printed page. It and--Nadara. He glanced toward the girl. Could he give her up? No! A thousand times, no! He read in her face the fear that lurked in her heart. No, he could not give her up. He owed to her all that he possessed of which he was most proud--his mighty physique, his new found courage, his woodcraft, his ability to cope, primitively, with the primitive world, her savage world which he had learned to love. No, he could not give her up; but--what? His gaze lingered upon her sweet face. Slowly there sank into his understanding something of the reason for his love of this wild, half-savage cave girl other than the primitive passion of the sexes. He saw now not only the physical beauty of her face and figure, but the sweet, pure innocence of her girlishness, and, most of all, the wondrous tenderness of her love of him that was mirrored in her eyes. To remain and take her as his mate after the manner and customs of her own people would reflect no shame upon himself or her; but was she not deserving of the highest honor that it lay within his power to offer at the altar of her love? She--his wonderful Nadara--must become his through the most solemn and dignified ceremony that civilized man had devised. What the young woman of his past life demanded was none too good for her. Again the girl voiced her question. "You wish to go?" "Yes, Nadara," he replied, "I must go back to my own people--and you must go with me." Her face lighted with pleasure and happiness as she heard his last words; but the expression was quickly followed by one of doubt and fear. "I am afraid," she said; "but if you wish it I will go." "You need not fear, Nadara. None will harm you by word or deed while Thandar is with you. Come, let us return to the sea and the yacht before she sails."