’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. 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. Ireton and Langley had returned from a second unsuccessful search; Marvel had come thither to bid good-night to Mrs.
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