4. 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. We had not then recovered from the shock. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. She saw his face change, how he regretted. To Capes he was almost deferential, and she had never seen him deferential in the old time, never. "He is respited?" "Alas! no," replied Thames, sadly. " "Would you like to have me come in and talk?" How tender that sounded!—talk! "If you want to.
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