She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. “She appears to be very popular here,” she remarked. E. Ruth obeyed, not willingly, but because there was something hypnotic in the authoritative tone. “There’s no one here except me. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words.
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