THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR
which lay pale and silent in the shadow of the gunwale, filled him with vague alarms.
On, on into the void, the tiny vessel crept. The sun sank low in the sky and dropped, a red ball, behind the disk of sea. The dusk swept up over the ocean like the shadow of a storm, and night drew a purplish curtain across the smiling heaven. The stars twinkled into sudden life, and night fell, clear, warm, spangled, while the soft, stealthy seas crept alongside and leaped and fawned at the shearing prow of the pinnace. An arching moon arose and sailed, a silver boat, high into the heavens. But Bras-de-Fer moved not and Barbara still slept. Continually his keen eyes swept the dark rim of the horizon for a blur of sail or the sign of any portentous movement of the elements. He knew the horrors of this southern ocean, and the catlike purring of the silken seas did not deceive him; for in the swaying deep he could feel the great rhythmical pulse of the heart of the sea, which spoke a continuous, sullen, ominous threat of resistless might, ready at the turn of a mood to rise, engulf, and devour.
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