wrapped the unconcern of the earth and sea, the
fury and the pain of hearts; she smiled above his head, fascinated by
the simplicity of images and expressions.

Lingard made a brusque movement, the lively little boat being unsteady
under his feet, and she spoke slowly, absently, as if her thought had
been lost in the vagueness of her sensations.

"And this--this--Jorgenson, you said? Who is he?"

"A man," he answered, "a man like myself."

"Like yourself?"

"Just like myself," he said with strange reluctance, as if admitting a
painful truth. "More sense, perhaps, but less luck. Though, since your
yacht has turned up here, I begin to think that my luck is nothing much
to boast of either."

"Is our presence here so fatal?"

"It may be death to some. It may be worse than death to me. And it rests
with you in a way. Think of that! I can never find such another chance
again. But that's nothing! A man who has saved my life once and that I
passed my word to would think I had thrown him over. But that's nothing!
Listen! As true as I stand here in my boat talking to you, I believe the
girl would die of grief."

"You love her," she said, softly.

"Like my own daughter," he cried, low.

Mrs. Travers said, "Oh!" faintly, and for a moment there was a silence,
then he began again:

"Look here. When I was a boy in a trawler, and looked at you yacht
people, in the Channel ports, you were as strange to me as the Malays
here are strange to you. I left home sixteen years ago and fought my way
all round the earth. I had the time to forget where I began. What are
you to me against these two? If I was to die here on the spot would you
care? No one would care at home. No one in the whole world--but these
two."

"What can I do?" she asked, and waited, leaning over.

He seemed to reflect, then lifting his head, spoke gently:

"Do you understand the danger you are in? Are you afraid?"

"I understand the expression you used, of course. Understand the
danger?" she went on. "No--decidedly no. And--honestly--I am not
afraid."

"Aren't you?" he said in a disappointed voice. "Perhaps you don't
believe me? I believed you, though, when you said you were sure I meant
well. I trusted you enough to come here asking for your help--telling
you what no one knows."

"You mistake me," she said with impulsive earnestness. "This is so
extraordinarily unusual--sudden--outside my experience."

"Aye!" he murmured, "what would you know of dang