The starling, on which the carpenter stood, was the fourth from the Surrey shore. 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. On this side of the canal she has no place to go. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though. You did it on your own?” Ann Veronica smiled. “Do you happen to know whether she is supposed to be here?” “Very likely indeed,” Captain Fred Meddoes answered, lighting a cigarette. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds.
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