The night was now profoundly dark. . "But, take my advice, and keep out of Sir Rowland's way, or you'll get the poor lady into trouble as well as me. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose. 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. ’ All at once Mrs Sindlesham looked across at him, a sharp question in her eyes. The Night-Cellar. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. You must, know, Sir Rowland—for I've no secrets from you—that, in the course of my business I've found it convenient to become the owner of a small Dutch sloop; by means of which I can transmit any light ware,—such as gold watches, rings, and plate, as well as occasionally a bank or goldsmith's note, which has been spoken with by way of the mail,—you understand me?—to Holland or Flanders, and obtain a secure and ready market for them.
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