She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy. ‘I am glad it is you, because you can help me. ” His father said. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. 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.
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