She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. 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. She came quickly into the little parlour, which now seemed inordinately crowded, and coming up to Melusine, seized her hands in a warm clasp. She says she will have to, though she does not wish to. . “I am going to ask for your forgiveness. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. How did you meet him?’ ‘He was wounded and came to the convent for sanctuary,’ Melusine told him, stung by his criticism into revealing more than she had intended. He had kissed his wife on the mouth … and had been horrified! There was real madness somewhere along this road.
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