Perhaps her cogitations would not bear strict analysis.
Perhaps she harbored a sweet hope that the future might yet contain bright hours for herself and the man who was so devoted to her.

She refused to believe that Robert Anstruther, strong of arm and clear of brain, a Knight of the Round Table in all that was noble and chivalric, would permit his name to bear an unwarrantable stigma when--and she blushed like a June rose--he came to tell her that which he had written.
The sailor returned hastily, with the manner of one hurrying to perform a neglected task.

Without any explanation to Iris he climbed several times to the ledge, carrying arm-loads of grass roots which he planted in full view.

Then he entered the cave, and, although he was furnished only with the dim light that penetrated through the distant exit, she heard him hewing manfully at the rock for a couple of hours.

At last he emerged, grimy with dust and perspiration, just in time to pay a last visit to Summit Rock before the sun sank to rest.