" "Hark!" cried Winifred, "Thames is arrived. 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. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. She was dressed as a white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied her instincts. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned.
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