She was too occupied in glimpsing the vision of the one lone white man as she had first seen him, helpless from fever, a collapsed wraith in a steamer-chair, who, up to the last heart- beat, by some strange alchemy of race, was pledged to mastery.
"It is a pity," she said.

"But the white man has to rule, I suppose." "I don't like it," Sheldon assured her.

"To save my life I can't imagine how I ever came here.

But here I am, and I can't run away." "Blind destiny of race," she said, faintly smiling.

"We whites have been land robbers and sea robbers from remotest time.