“Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. Still he had a decent look, and decidedly the air of one well-to-do in the world. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn.
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