"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. Turning to Melusine, he grabbed both her wrists and held her away from him, as if afraid that she might go for him. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed.
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