She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. 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. Let's get one idea into our heads. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared.
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