On golden Mashta played the last level rays of the dying sun, caressing the wondrous edifice as though they loved it.

The subtropical night was rushing down upon the smiling world, and, as ever, it was descending without the long sweet interval of twilight that northern lands know.
Gavin put the tub to top speed as the last visible obstacle was left behind.

Clear water lay between him and the beach.
And he was impatient to step on land.

Under the fresh impetus the rolling craft panted and wheezed and made her way through the ripples at a really creditable pace.
As the shadows thickened Brice half-arose in his seat to get a better glimpse of a little motorboat which had just sprung into view from around the mangrove-covered headland that cut off the view of Standish's mainland dock.

The boat apparently had put off from that pier, and was making rapid speed out into the bay almost directly toward him.