The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror. " "Arrested!" exclaimed Trenchard, drawing his sword. He had got here at speed by that means. 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. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. The air was crisp and dry.
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