Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. He saw her, dripping with rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane, her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. For a short time they allowed me to share the warmth of their lives. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Yes, I remember you now.
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