'Oh, how can I know that thou lovest but me?
How can I know that thou wilt not weary of me and seek thine own place again, leaving me desolate?
Who is there to tell me but that thou lovest some other woman, some fair woman unknown to me, but who yet draws breath beneath this same moon that shines on me tonight?
Tell me _how_ am I to know ?' And she clasped her hands and stretched them out towards him and looked appealingly into his face.
'Nyleptha,' answered Sir Henry, adopting the Zu-Vendi way of speech; 'I have told thee that I love thee; how am I to tell thee how much I love thee?
Is there then a measure for love?
Yet will I try.

I say not that I have never looked upon another woman with favour, but this I say that I love thee with all my life and with all my strength; that I love thee now and shall love thee till I grow cold in death, ay, and as I believe beyond my death, and on and on for ever: I say that thy voice is music to my ear, and thy touch as water to a thirsty land, that when thou art there the world is beautiful, and when I see thee not it is as though the light was dead.

Oh, Nyleptha, I will never leave thee; here and now for thy dear sake I will forget my people and my father's house, yea, I renounce them all.

By thy side will I live, Nyleptha, and at thy side will I die.' He paused and gazed at her earnestly, but she hung her head like a lily, and said never a word.
'Look!' he went on, pointing to the statue on which the moonlight played so brightly.

'Thou seest that angel woman who rests her hand upon the forehead of the sleeping man, and thou seest how at her touch his soul flames up and shines out through his flesh, even as a lamp at the touch of the fire, so is it with me and thee, Nyleptha.