There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. Melusine sighed with relief at being alone at last and free to resume her search among the portraits. 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. You have misunderstood. ‘But this Englishwoman,’ asked the man Valade, his puzzlement plain to see, ‘who was she?’ The question irritated Charvill. ’ ‘Well for him,’ remarked Captain Roding.
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