Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. Not a bark could be discerned on the river, except those already mentioned. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. It was Blueskin. In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. Unmindful of the terrors of the night, unscared by the danger that threatened him, Rowland consigned his sister's husband and his sister's child to the waves.
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