Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. ‘Pig, miss?’ ‘The one who calls himself Valade, idiot,’ snapped Melusine impatiently. She recalled that day of the typhoon and the sloop crashing on the outer reefs. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them.
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