Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. She felt the softest touch caress her cheek, and a wave of tenderness engulfed Melusine. 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. " "Don't mention such a thing, Sir," interrupted the tapstress. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead.
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