ere with the lady his sister secretly and with speed.
The time of great trouble has come. Let us, at least, be together."

"Right! Right!" Jaffir approved, heartily. "To die alone under the
weight of one's enemies is a dreadful fate."

He stepped back out of the sheen of the lamp by which they had been
talking and making his way down into the small canoe he took up a paddle
and without a splash vanished on the dark lagoon.

It was then that Mrs. Travers and d'Alcacer heard Lingard call aloud for
Jorgenson. Instantly the familiar shadow stood at Lingard's elbow and
listened in detached silence. Only at the end of the tale it marvelled
audibly: "Here's a mess for you if you like." But really nothing in the
world could astonish or startle old Jorgenson. He turned away muttering
in his moustache. Lingard remained with his chin in his hand and
Jaffir's last words took gradual possession of his mind. Then brusquely
he picked up the lamp and went to seek Mrs. Travers. He went to seek her
because he actually needed her bodily presence, the sound of her voice,
the dark, clear glance of her eyes. She could do nothing for him. On
his way he became aware that Jorgenson had turned out the few Malays
on board the Emma and was disposing them about the decks to watch
the lagoon in all directions. On calling Mrs. Travers out of the Cage
Lingard was, in the midst of his mental struggle, conscious of a certain
satisfaction in taking her away from d'Alcacer. He couldn't spare any of
her attention to any other man, not the least crumb of her time, not
the least particle of her thought! He needed it all. To see it withdrawn
from him for the merest instant was irritating--seemed a disaster.

D'Alcacer, left alone, wondered at the imperious tone of Lingard's call.
To this observer of shades the fact seemed considerable. "Sheer nerves,"
he concluded, to himself. "The man is overstrung. He must have had some
sort of shock." But what could it be--he wondered to himself. In the
tense stagnation of those days of waiting the slightest tremor had an
enormous importance. D'Alcacer did not seek his camp bedstead. He didn't
even sit down. With the palms of his hands against the edge of the table
he leaned back against it. In that negligent attitude he preserved an
alert mind which for a moment wondered whether Mrs. Travers had
not spoiled Lingard a little. Yet in the suddenness of the forced
association, where, too, d'Alcacer was sure there was some m