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_ Recovering himself with a slight start Lingard gave the order to
extinguish all the lights in the brig. Now the transfer of the
crew from the yacht had been effected there was every advantage
in the darkness. He gave the order from instinct, it being the
right thing to do in the circumstances. His thoughts were in the
cabin of his brig, where there was a woman waiting. He put his
hand over his eyes, collecting himself as if before a great
mental effort. He could hear about him the excited murmurs of the
white men whom in the morning he had so ardently desired to have
safe in his keeping. He had them there now; but accident,
ill-luck, a cursed folly, had tricked him out of the success of
his plan. He would have to go in and talk to Mrs. Travers. The
idea dismayed him. Of necessity he was not one of those men who
have the mastery of expression. To liberate his soul was for him
a gigantic undertaking, a matter of desperate effort, of doubtful
success. "I must have it out with her," he murmured to himself as
though at the prospect of a struggle. He was uncertain of
himself, of her; he was uncertain of everything and everybody;
but he was very certain he wanted to look at her.
At the moment he turned to the door of the cabin both flares went
out together and the black vault of the night upheld above the
brig by the fierce flames fell behind him and buried the deck in
sudden darkness. The buzz of strange voices instantly hummed
louder with a startled note. "Hallo!"--"Can't see a mortal
thing"--"Well, what next?"--insisted a voice--"I want to know
what next?"
Lingard checked himself ready to open the door and waited
absurdly for the answer as though in the hope of some suggestion.
"What's up with you? Think yourself lucky," said somebody.--"It's
all very well--for to-night," began the voice.--"What are you
fashing yourself for?" remonstrated the other, reasonably, "we'll
get home right enough."--"I am not so sure; the second mate he
says--" "Never mind what he says; that 'ere man who has got this
brig will see us through. The owner's wife will talk to him--she
will. Money can do a lot." The two voices came nearer, and spoke
more distinctly, close behind Lingard. "Suppose them blooming
savages set fire to the yacht. What's to prevent them?"--"And
suppose they do. This 'ere brig's good enough to get away in.
Ain't she? Guns and all. We'll get home yet all right. What do
you say, John?"
"I say nothing and care less," said a third voice, peaceful and
faint.
"D'you mean to say, John, you would go to the bottom as soon as
you would go home? Come now!"--"To the bottom," repeated the wan
voice, composedly. "Aye! That's where we all are going to, in one
way or another. The way don't matter."
"Ough! You would give the blues to the funny man of a blooming
circus. What would my missus say if I wasn't to turn up never at
all?"--"She would get another man; there's always plenty of fools
about." A quiet and mirthless chuckle was heard in the pause of
shocked silence. Lingard, with his hand on the door, remained
still. Further off a growl burst out: "I do hate to be chucked in
the dark aboard a strange ship. I wonder where they keep their
fresh water. Can't get any sense out of them silly niggers. We
don't seem to be more account here than a lot of cattle. Likely
as not we'll have to berth on this blooming quarter-deck for God
knows how long." Then again very near Lingard the first voice
said, deadened discreetly-- "There's something curious about this
here brig turning up sudden-like, ain't there? And that skipper
of her--now? What kind of a man is he--anyhow?"
"Oh, he's one of them skippers going about loose. The brig's his
own, I am thinking. He just goes about in her looking for what he
may pick up honest or dishonest. My brother-in-law has served two
commissions in these seas, and was telling me awful yarns about
what's going on in them God-forsaken parts. Likely he lied,
though. Them man-of-war's men are a holy terror for yarns. Bless
you, what do I care who this skipper is? Let him do his best and
don't trouble your head. You won't see him again in your life
once we get clear."
"And can he do anything for the owner?" asked the first voice
again.--"Can he! We can do nothing--that's one thing certain. The
owner may be lying clubbed to death this very minute for all we
know. By all accounts these savages here are a crool murdering
lot. Mind you, I am sorry for him as much as anybody."--"Aye,
aye," muttered the other, approvingly. --"He may not have been
ready, poor man," began again the reasonable voice. Lingard heard
a deep sigh.--"If there's anything as can be done for him, the
owner's wife she's got to fix it up with this 'ere skipper. Under
Providence he may serve her turn."
Lingard flung open the cabin door, entered, and, with a slam,
shut the darkness out.
"I am, under Providence, to serve your turn," he said after
standing very still for a while, with his eyes upon Mrs. Travers.
The brig's swing-lamp lighted the cabin with an extraordinary
brilliance. Mrs. Travers had thrown back her hood. The radiant
brightness of the little place enfolded her so close, clung to
her with such force that it might have been part of her very
essence. There were no shadows on her face; it was fiercely
lighted, hermetically closed, of impenetrable fairness.
Lingard looked in unconscious ecstasy at this vision, so amazing
that it seemed to have strayed into his existence from beyond the
limits of the conceivable. It was impossible to guess her
thoughts, to know her feelings, to understand her grief or her
joy. But she knew all that was at the bottom of his heart. He had
told her himself, impelled by a sudden thought, going to her in
darkness, in desperation, in absurd hope, in incredible trust. He
had told her what he had told no one on earth, except perhaps, at
times, himself, but without words--less clearly. He had told her
and she had listened in silence. She had listened leaning over
the rail till at last her breath was on his forehead. He
remembered this and had a moment of soaring pride and of
unutterable dismay. He spoke, with an effort.
"You've heard what I said just now? Here I am."
"Do you expect me to say something?" she asked. "Is it necessary?
Is it possible?"
"No," he answered. "It is said already. I know what you expect
from me. Everything."
"Everything," she repeated, paused, and added much lower, "It is
the very least." He seemed to lose himself in thought.
"It is extraordinary," he reflected half aloud, "how I dislike
that man." She leaned forward a little.
"Remember those two men are innocent," she began.
"So am I--innocent. So is everybody in the world. Have you ever
met a man or a woman that was not? They've got to take their
chances all the same."
"I expect you to be generous," she said.
"To you?"
"Well--to me. Yes--if you like to me alone."
"To you alone! And you know everything!" His voice dropped. "You
want your happiness."
She made an impatient movement and he saw her clench the hand
that was lying on the table.
"I want my husband back," she said, sharply.
"Yes. Yes. It's what I was saying. Same thing," he muttered with
strange placidity. She looked at him searchingly. He had a large
simplicity that filled one's vision. She found herself slowly
invaded by this masterful figure. He was not mediocre. Whatever
he might have been he was not mediocre. The glamour of a lawless
life stretched over him like the sky over the sea down on all
sides to an unbroken horizon. Within, he moved very lonely,
dangerous and romantic. There was in him crime, sacrifice,
tenderness, devotion, and the madness of a fixed idea. She
thought with wonder that of all the men in the world he was
indeed the one she knew the best and yet she could not foresee
the speech or the act of the next minute. She said distinctly:
"You've given me your confidence. Now I want you to give me the
life of these two men. The life of two men whom you do not know,
whom to-morrow you will forget. It can be done. It must be done.
You cannot refuse them to me." She waited.
"Why can't I refuse?" he whispered, gloomily, without looking up.
"You ask!" she exclaimed. He made no sign. He seemed at a loss
for words.
"You ask . . . Ah!" she cried. "Don't you see that I have no
kingdoms to conquer?" _
Read next: PART IV. THE GIFT OF THE SHALLOWS: CHAPTER III
Read previous: PART IV. THE GIFT OF THE SHALLOWS: CHAPTER I
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