but I will see you through all safe if you will only
trust me--me, Tom Lingard." And they would not believe him! It was
intolerable. He imagined himself sweeping their disbelief out of his
way. And why not? He did not know them, he did not care for them, he
did not even need to lift his hand against them! All he had to do was to
shut his eyes now for a day or two, and afterward he could forget that
he had ever seen them. It would be easy. Let their disbelief vanish,
their folly disappear, their bodies perish. . . . It was that--or ruin!

III

Lingard's gaze, detaching itself from the silent sea, travelled slowly
over the silent figures clustering forward, over the faces of the seamen
attentive and surprised, over the faces never seen before yet suggesting
old days--his youth--other seas--the distant shores of early memories.
Mr. Travers gave a start also, and the hand which had been busy with
his left whisker went into the pocket of his jacket, as though he
had plucked out something worth keeping. He made a quick step toward
Lingard.

"I don't see my way to utilize your services," he said, with cold
finality.

Lingard, grasping his beard, looked down at him thoughtfully for a short
time.

"Perhaps it's just as well," he said, very slowly, "because I did not
offer my services. I've offered to take you on board my brig for a
few days, as your only chance of safety. And you asked me what were
my motives. My motives! If you don't see them they are not for you to
know."

And these men who, two hours before had never seen each other, stood
for a moment close together, antagonistic, as if they had been life-long
enemies, one short, dapper and glaring upward, the other towering
heavily, and looking down in contempt and anger.

Mr. d'Alcacer, without taking his eyes off them, bent low over the deck
chair.

"Have you ever seen a man dashing himself at a stone wall?" he asked,
confidentially.

"No," said Mrs. Travers, gazing straight before her above the slow
flutter of the fan. "No, I did not know it was ever done; men burrow
under or slip round quietly while they look the other way."

"Ah! you define diplomacy," murmured d'Alcacer. "A little of it here
would do no harm. But our picturesque visitor has none of it. I've a
great liking for him."

"Already!" breathed out Mrs. Travers, with a smile that touched her lips
with its bright wing and was flown almost before it could be seen.

"There is liking at first