headsails ran down, she turned short on her heel, and her anchor
bit into the sandy bottom on the edge of the outer reef; for it was
too dangerous then to attempt entering the little bay full of
shoals. After the last solemn flutter of the mainsail the
murmuring voices of the Moorsom party lingered, very frail, in the
black stillness.

They were sitting aft, on chairs, and nobody made a move. Early in
the day, when it had become evident that the wind was failing,
Renouard, basing his advice on the shortcomings of his bachelor
establishment, had urged on the ladies the advisability of not
going ashore in the middle of the night. Now he approached them in
a constrained manner (it was astonishing the constraint that had
reigned between him and his guests all through the passage) and
renewed his arguments. No one ashore would dream of his bringing
any visitors with him. Nobody would even think of coming off.
There was only one old canoe on the plantation. And landing in the
schooner's boats would be awkward in the dark. There was the risk
of getting aground on some shallow patches. It would be best to
spend the rest of the night on board.

There was really no opposition. The professor smoking a pipe, and
very comfortable in an ulster buttoned over his tropical clothes,
was the first to speak from his long chair.

"Most excellent advice."

Next to him Miss Moorsom assented by a long silence. Then in a
voice as of one coming out of a dream -