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. The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself. Hilary started after her, but Gerald stopped him. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things.
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