Hanging Waters by Keith West

TO-NIGHT the moon, a flame-yellow bubble, hung just over the low bank of clouds in the west. It seemed as if the great circle of colour were about to form a drop at its lower edge, to pour a drop slowly into the darkness of the cloud-bank. The fields across the river were flooded with moonlight, but seemed in darkness, so intense was the glare of the moon: nearer, a rippling, widening cone of gold ran flickering from the shadow of the further bank to lose itself under the rushes which climbed almost to the feet of the group now seated about a small fire on the rank grass of the river edge. A faint wind disturbed the flames of the fire, and effaced, for a moment only, the outlines of the pathway of light on the water. Behind, the trees began, and behind these again stood, invisible from the river, the house of Lien Wo.

-"It is a pleasant night," said Tung Lai Luk, reclining on one elbow.