interminable minute he had not been aware of her
at all. At the murmur of his words she made a slight movement and he saw
her again.--"What night?" she whispered, timidly, like an intruder. She
was astonished to see him smile.--"Not like this one," he said. "You
made me notice how quiet and still it was. Yes. Listen how still it is."

Both moved their heads slightly and seemed to lend an ear. There was not
a murmur, sigh, rustle, splash, or footfall. No whispers, no tremors,
not a sound of any kind. They might have been alone on board the Emma,
abandoned even by the ghost of Captain Jorgenson departed to rejoin
the Barque Wild Rose on the shore of the Cimmerian sea.--"It's like the
stillness of the end," said Mrs. Travers in a low, equable voice.--"Yes,
but that, too, is false," said Lingard in the same tone.--"I don't
understand," Mrs. Travers began, hurriedly, after a short silence. "But
don't use that word. Don't use it, King Tom! It frightens me by its mere
sound."

Lingard made no sign. His thoughts were back with Hassim and Immada. The
young chief and his sister had gone up country on a voluntary mission
to persuade Belarab to return to his stockade and to take up again the
direction of affairs. They carried urgent messages from Lingard, who for
Belarab was the very embodiment of truth and force, that unquestioned
force which had permitted Belarab to indulge in all his melancholy
hesitations. But those two young people had also some personal prestige.
They were Lingard's heart's friends. They were like his children. But
beside that, their high birth, their warlike story, their wanderings,
adventures, and prospects had given them a glamour of their own.

V

The very day that Travers and d'Alcacer had come on board the Emma
Hassim and Immada had departed on their mission; for Lingard, of course,
could not think of leaving the white people alone with Jorgenson.
Jorgenson was all right, but his ineradicable habit of muttering in his
moustache about "throwing a lighted match amongst the powder barrels"
had inspired Lingard with a certain amount of mistrust. And, moreover,
he did not want to go away from Mrs. Travers.

It was the only correct inspiration on Carter's part to send Jaffir with
his report to Lingard. That stout-hearted fighter, swimmer, and devoted
follower of the princely misfortunes of Hassim and Immada, had looked
upon his mission to catch the chief officer of the yacht (which he had
received fr