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. Larry would be up soon. Where was the expected message from this captain, who had promised to send her word at the instant Gerald returned to town. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. She might be able to go on with biology, possibly even work upon the same questions that he dealt with. When they were going home she asked her mother why she and Gwen and Alice had cried.
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