CHAPTER VI.
THE SWEET AND TENDER LETTERS THAT SUDDENLY CEASED TO COME.
Gerelda Northrup neither spoke nor stirred.
"You drew me on—ay, up to the very last moment—or this would never have happened. I come of a desperate race, Gerelda," he went on, huskily, "and when you showed me so plainly that you still liked my society, even after you had plighted your troth to another, I clung to the mad idea that there was yet hope for me, if we were far away from those who might come between us. On this lone island we will be all the world to each other—'the world forgetting, by the world forgot.' Marry me, Gerelda, and I will be your veritable slave!"
He never forgot the look she turned upon him.
"When your anger has had time to cool, you will forgive me, my darling," he pleaded, "and then I am
