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. Ann Veronica looked bright and a little elated, and she disregarded her father’s invitation to be seated. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up. A tarnish of constraint that had recently spread over her intercourse with Capes vanished again. He was unaware that his illness had opened the way to the inherent conscience and that the acquired had been temporarily blanketed, or that there was any ancient fanaticalism in his blood. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. “I don’t understand. Now tell me, if you can, something about the man who calls himself Valade. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling.
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