Noiselessly, his booted feet stepping with careful restraint, he started forward, signalling to Roding to follow. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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