She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. " His demeanour was polished; his manners singularly affable and gentle; and he was remarkable, for the generosity of his temper. Of course there were goats. There was hope for me then. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. 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. Nevertheless it was overwhelming.
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