A slow horror was dawning in his fixed eyes. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. A very small settlement, mostly natives. "How have you contrived to still these troubled waters?" "I've chanced upon an old ally in the Master of the Mint," answered Rowland. 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 glanced at Brendon, who stood by her side, tall and threatening.
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