In the dim moonlight her face seemed a vague sweet flower shadowed by the dark, wind-blown masses of her hair. Stern felt the warmth, scented the perfume of her firm, full-blooded flesh. She put a hand to her hair; her tiger-skin robe, falling back to the shoulder, revealed her white and beautiful arm.
All at once she drew that arm about the man and brought him close to her breast.
“Oh, Allan!” she breathed. “My boy! Where are we? What is it? Oh, I was sleeping so soundly! Have we reached harbor yet? What's that noise--that roaring sound? Surf?”
For a moment he could not answer. She, sensing some trouble, peered closely at him.
“What is it, Allan?” cried she, her woman's intuition telling her of trouble. “Tell me--is anything wrong?”
“Listen, dearest!”
“Yes, what?”
“We're in some kind of--of--”
“What? Danger?”
“Well, it may be. I don't know yet. But there's something wrong. You see--”