ion by
a slighting gesture of the hand.--"Nothing worth looking at twice. Don't
give it a thought," he said. "I've been in tighter places." He clapped
his hands and waited till he heard the cabin door open behind his back.
"Steward, my pistols." The mulatto in slippers, aproned to the chin,
glided through the cabin with unseeing eyes as though for him no one
there had existed. . . .--"Is it my heart that aches so?" Mrs. Travers
asked herself, contemplating Lingard's motionless figure. "How long will
this sensation of dull pain last? Will it last forever. . . ."--"How
many changes of clothes shall I put up, sir?" asked the steward, while
Lingard took the pistols from him and eased the hammers after putting
on fresh caps.--"I will take nothing this time, steward." He received in
turn from the mulatto's hands a red silk handkerchief, a pocket book, a
cigar-case. He knotted the handkerchief loosely round his throat; it
was evident he was going through the routine of every departure for
the shore; he even opened the cigar-case to see whether it had been
filled.--"Hat, sir," murmured the half-caste. Lingard flung it on his
head.--"Take your orders from this lady, steward--till I come back. The
cabin is hers--do you hear?" He sighed ready to go and seemed unable to
lift a foot.--"I am coming with you," declared Mrs. Travers suddenly in
a tone of unalterable decision. He did not look at her; he did not even
look up; he said nothing, till after Carter had cried: "You can't, Mrs.
Travers!"--when without budging he whispered to himself:--"Of course."
Mrs. Travers had pulled already the hood of her cloak over her head
and her face within the dark cloth had turned an intense and unearthly
white, in which the violet of her eyes appeared unfathomably mysterious.
Carter started forward.--"You don't know this man," he almost shouted.

"I do know him," she said, and before the reproachfully unbelieving
attitude of the other she added, speaking slowly and with emphasis:
"There is not, I verily believe, a single thought or act of his life
that I don't know."--"It's true--it's true," muttered Lingard to
himself. Carter threw up his arms with a groan. "Stand back," said a
voice that sounded to him like a growl of thunder, and he felt a grip
on his hand which seemed to crush every bone. He jerked it away.--"Mrs.
Travers! stay," he cried. They had vanished through the open door and
the sound of their footsteps had already died away. Carter turn