dignity of attitude.
'I intend to go,' she declared after a time.
'You intend to go,' repeated Mr. Travers in a feeble, deliberate voice. 'Really, it doesn't matter what you decide to do. All this is of so little importance. It seems to me that there can be no possible object.'
'Perhaps not,' she admitted. 'But don't you think that the uttermost farthing should always be paid?'
Mr. Travers' head rolled over on the pillow and gave a covertly scared look at that outspoken woman. But it rolled back again at once and the whole man remained passive, the very embodiment of helpless exhaustion. Mrs. Travers noticed this, and had the unexpected impression that Mr. Travers was not so ill as he looked. 'He's making the most of it. It's a matter of diplomacy,' she thought. She thought this without irony, bitterness, or disgust. Only her heart sank a little lower and she felt that she could not remain in the cabin with that man for the rest of the evening. For all life—yes! But not for that evening.
'It's simply monstrous,' murmured the man, who was either very diplomatic or very exhausted, in a languid manner. 'There is something abnormal in you.'
Mrs. Travers got up swiftly.
'One comes across monstrous things. But I assure you that of all the monsters that wait on what you would call a normal existence the one I dread most is tediousness. A merciless monster without teeth or claws. Impotent. Horrible!'
She left the stateroom, vanishing out of it with noiseless resolution. No power on earth could have kept her in there for another minute. On deck she found a moonless night with a velvety tepid feeling in the air, and in the sky a mass of blurred starlight, like the tarnished tinsel of a worn-out, very old, very tedious firmament. The usual routine of the yacht had been already resumed, the awnings had been stretched aft, a solitary round lamp had been hung as usual under the main boom. Out of the deep gloom behind it d'Alcacer, a long, loose figure, lounged in the dim light across the deck. D'Alcacer had got promptly in touch with the store of cigarettes he owed to the Governor General's generosity. A large, pulsating spark glowed, illuminating redly the design of his lips under the fine dark moustache, the tip of his nose, his lean chin. D'Alcacer reproached himself for an unwonted light-heartedness which had somehow taken possession of him. He had not experienced that sort of feeling for years. Reprehensible as it was he did not want anything to disturb it. But as he could not run away openly from Mrs. Travers he advanced to meet her.
'I do hope you have nothing to tell me,' he said with whimsical earnestness.
'I? No! Have you?'
He assured her he had not, and proffered a request. 'Don't let us tell each other anything, Mrs. Travers. Don't let us think of anything. I believe it will be the best way to get over the evening.' There was real anxiety in his jesting tone.
'Very well,' Mrs. Travers assented, seriously. 'But in that case we had better not remain together.' She asked, then, d'Alcacer to go below and sit with Mr. Travers who didn't like to be left alone. 'Though he, too, doesn't seem to want to be told anything,' she added, parenthetically, and went on: 'But I must ask you something else, Mr. d'Alcacer. I propose to sit down in this chair and go to sleep—if I can. Will you promise to call me about five o'clock? I prefer not to speak to any one on deck, and, moreover, I can trust you.'
He bowed in silence and went away slowly. Mrs. Travers, turning her head, perceived a steady light at the brig's yard-arm, very bright among the tarnished stars. She walked aft and looked over the taffrail. It was exactly like that other night. She half expected to hear presently the low, rippling sound of an advancing boat. But the universe remained without a sound. When she at last dropped into the deck chair she was absolutely at the end of her power of thinking. 'I suppose that's how the condemned manage to get some sleep on the night before the execution,' she said to herself a moment before her eyelids closed as if under a leaden hand.
She woke up, with her face wet with tears, out of a vivid dream of Lingard in chain-mail armour and vaguely recalling a Crusader, but bare-headed and walking away from her in the depths of an impossible landscape. She hurried on to catch up with him but a throng of barbarians with enormous turbans came between them at the last moment and she lost sight of him forever in the flurry of a ghastly sand-storm. What frightened her most was that she had not been able to see his face. It was then that she began to cry over her hard fate. When she woke up the tears were still rolling down her cheeks and she perceived in the light of the deck-lamp d'Alcacer arrested a little way off.
'Did you have to speak to me?' she asked.
'No,' said d'Alcacer. 'You didn't give me time. When I came as far as this I fancied I heard you sobbing. It must have been a delusion.'
'Oh, no. My face is wet yet. It was a dream. I suppose it is five o'clock. Thank you for being so punctual. I have something to do before sunrise.'
D'Alcacer moved nearer. 'I know. You have decided to keep an appointment on the sandbank. Your husband didn't utter twenty words in all these hours but he managed to tell me that piece of news.'
'I shouldn't have thought,' she murmured, vaguely.
'He wanted me to understand that it had no importance,' stated d'Alcacer in a very serious tone.
'Yes. He knows what he is talking about,' said Mrs. Travers in such a bitter tone as to disconcert d'Alcacer for a moment. 'I don't see a single soul about the decks,' Mrs. Travers continued, almost directly.
'The very watchmen are asleep,' said d'Alcacer.
'There is nothing secret in this expedition, but I prefer not to call any one. Perhaps you wouldn't mind pulling me off yourself in our small boat.'
It seemed to her that d'Alcacer showed some hesitation. She added: 'It has no importance, you know.'
He bowed his assent and preceded her down the side in silence. When she entered the boat he had the sculls ready and directly she sat down he shoved off. It was so dark yet that but for the brig's yard-arm light he could not have kept his direction. He pulled a very deliberate stroke, looking over his shoulder frequently. It was Mrs. Travers who saw first the faint gleam of the uncovered sandspit on the black, quiet water.
'A little more to the left,' she said. 'No, the other way. . . .' D'Alcacer obeyed her directions but his stroke grew even slower than before. She spoke again. 'Don't you think that the uttermost farthing should always be paid, Mr. d'Alcacer?'
