HMS Surprise (Aubrey & Maturin, #3)

by Patrick O'Brian

She reached forward a hesitant hand and touched them lightly; her fearless and cheerful expression was now timid, very grave. She held one for a moment; put it solemnly down; looked at Stephen gazing at the island in the bay. Put it silently on and squatted there amazed, staring at her arm and the gleaming band of silver: put on another and another; and the rapture of possession seized her. She burst into wild laughter, slipped them all on, all off, all on in a different order, patting them, talking to them, giving them each a name. She leapt up and spun, jerking her thin arms to make the bracelets clink. Then suddenly she dropped in front of Stephen and worshipped him for a while, patting his feet – earnest, loving thanks broken by exclamations – how had he known? – preternatural wisdom nothing to him, of course – did he think them better this way round or that? – such a blaze of light! – might she have the cloth they were wrapped in? She took them off, comforting them, put them on again – how smoothly they slipped! – and sat there pressed against his knee, gazing at the silver on her arms. ‘Child,’ he said, ‘the sun has set. It is the dark of the moon and we must go.’ ‘Instantly,’ she cried. ‘Give me the chit and I fly to the ship; straight to the ship, ha, ha, ha!’ She ran skipping down the hill: he watched her until she vanished in the twilight, her gleaming arms held out like wings and the letter grasped in her mouth.