‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. McClintock was in a gay mood at dinner that night; but he did not see fit to give these children the true reason. 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. She knew the truth of it all right. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly.
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