Let us proceed with our tale. “Good God!” he exclaimed. " There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. The boat rocked violently with the struggle. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth.
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