One comes at last to the step from dreams to reality. He picked her up outside her last period Ceramics class. "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. 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. Many other wards,—especially on the Master Debtor's side,—have been necessarily omitted in the foregoing hasty enumeration.
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