She had heard the grand ring of passionate love this once at least--and how?
In the voice of a common sailor--out of the heart of an ignorant fellow who could neither read nor write, nor speak his own language, a churl, a peasant's son, a labourer--but a man, at least.

That was it--a strong, honest, fearless man.

That was why it all moved her so--that was why it was not an insult that this low-born fellow should dare to tell her he loved her.

She opened her lids again and saw his great figure leaning back against the rock, his white face turned upward, his eyes half closed.

She went near to him again.
Instantly, he made an effort and stood upright.