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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. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs.
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