gold embroideries and the shimmer of silks, she was like a figure in a faded painting. Only her neck appeared dazzlingly white in the smoky redness of the light. D'Alcacer's wonder approached a feeling of awe. He was on the point of moving away quietly when Mrs. Travers, without stirring in the least, let him hear the words:
'I have told him that every day seemed more difficult to live. Don't you see how impossible this is?'
D'Alcacer glanced rapidly across the Cage where Mr. Travers seemed to be asleep all in a heap and presenting a ruffled appearance like a sick bird. Nothing was distinct of him but the bald patch on the top of his head.
'Yes,' he murmured, 'it is most unfortunate. . . . I understand your anxiety, Mrs. Travers, but . . .'
'I am frightened,' she said.
He reflected a moment. 'What answer did you get?' he asked, softly.
'The answer was: 'Patience.''
D'Alcacer laughed a little.—'You may well laugh,' murmured Mrs. Travers in a tone of anguish.—'That's why I did,' he whispered. 'Patience! Didn't he see the horror of it?'—'I don't know. He walked away,' said Mrs. Travers. She looked immovably at her hands clasped in her lap, and then with a burst of distress, 'Mr. d'Alcacer, what is going to happen?'—'Ah, you are asking yourself the question at last.
'Croyez-vous?' came at last from Mrs. Travers in an accent so coldly languid that d'Alcacer felt a shudder run down his spine.
Was it possible that she was that kind of woman, he asked himself. Did she see nothing in the world outside herself? Was she above the commonest kind of compassion? He couldn't suspect Mrs. Travers of stupidity; but she might have been heartless and, like some women of her class, quite unable to recognize any emotion in the world except her own. D'Alcacer was shocked and at the same time he was relieved because he confessed to himself that he had ventured very far. However, in her humanity she was not vulgar enough to be offended. She was not the slave of small meannesses. This thought pleased d'Alcacer who had schooled himself not to expect too much from people. But he didn't know what to do next. After what he had ventured to say and after the manner in which she had met his audacity the only thing to do was to change the conversation. Mrs. Travers remained perfectly still. 'I will pretend that I think she is asleep,' he thought to himself, meditating a retreat on tip-toe.
He didn't know that Mrs. Travers was simply trying to recover the full command of her faculties. His words had given her a terrible shock. After managing to utter this defensive 'croyez-vous' which came out of her lips cold and faint as if in a last effort of dying strength, she felt herself turn rigid and speechless. She was thinking, stiff all over with emotion: 'D'Alcacer has seen it! How much more has he been able to see?' She didn't ask herself that question in fear or shame but with a reckless resignation. Out of that shock came a sensation of peace. A glowing warmth passed through all her limbs. If d'Alcacer had peered by that smoky light into her face he might have seen on her lips a fatalistic smile come and go. But d'Alcacer would not have dreamed of doing such a thing, and, besides, his attention just then was drawn in another direction. He had heard subdued exclamations, had noticed a stir on the decks of the Emma, and even some sort of noise outside the ship.
'These are strange sounds,' he said.
'Yes, I hear,' Mrs. Travers murmured, uneasily.
Vague shapes glided outside the Cage, barefooted, almost noiseless, whispering Malay words secretly.
'It seems as though a boat had come alongside,' observed d'Alcacer, lending an attentive ear. 'I wonder what it means. In our position. . . .'
'It may mean anything,' interrupted Mrs. Travers.
'Jaffir is here,' said a voice in the darkness of the after end of the ship. Then there were some more words in which d'Alcacer's attentive ear caught the word 'surat.'
'A message of some sort has come,' he said. 'They will be calling Captain Lingard. I wonder what thoughts or what dreams this call will interrupt.' He spoke lightly, looking now at Mrs. Travers who had altered her position in the chair; and by their tones and attitudes these two might have been on board the yacht sailing the sea in perfect safety. 'You, of course, are the one who will be told. Don't you feel a sort of excitement, Mrs. Travers?'
'I have been lately exhorted to patience,' she said in the same easy tone. 'I can wait and I imagine I shall have to wait till the morning.'
'It can't be very late yet,' he said. 'Time with us has been standing still for ever so long. And yet this may be the hour of fate.'
'Is this the feeling you have at this particular moment?'
'I have had that feeling for a considerable number of moments already. At first it was exciting. Now I am only moderately anxious. I have employed my time in going over all my past life.'
'Can one really do that?'
'Yes. I can't say I have been bored to extinction. I am still alive, as you see; but I have done with that and I feel extremely idle. There is only one thing I would like to do. I want to find a few words that could convey to you my gratitude for all your friendliness in the past, at the time when you let me see so much of you in London. I felt always that you took me on my own terms and that so kindly that often I felt inclined to think better of myself. But I am afraid I am wearying you, Mrs. Travers.'
'I assure you you have never done that—in the past. And as to the present moment I beg you not to go away. Stay by me please. We are not going to pretend that we are sleepy at this early hour.'
D'Alcacer brought a stool close to the long chair and sat down on it. 'Oh, yes, the possible hour of fate,' he said. 'I have a request to make, Mrs. Travers. I don't ask you to betray anything. What would be the good? The issue when it comes will be plain enough. But I should like to get a warning, just something that would give me time to pull myself together, to compose myself as it were. I want you to promise me that if the balance tips against us you will give me a sign. You could, for instance, seize the opportunity when I am looking at you to put your left hand to your forehead like this. It is a gesture that I have never seen you make, and so. . . .'
'Jorgenson!' Lingard's voice was heard forward where the light of a lantern appeared suddenly. Then, after a pause, Lingard was heard again: 'Here!'
