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” “Except,” said Constance, surveying her work with her head on one side, “to keep the matches from the litter. They even threatened to cut the traces and take off the wheels from the carriage. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. No matter. 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. “Dare!” she said. No, let us dine here, and then go and have our coffee on the boulevards. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated.
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