peless. During the afternoon, while
pacing to and fro in the bit of shade thrown by the glorified sort of
hut inside which Mr. Travers shivered and sulked misanthropically, he
had been aware of the more distant verandahs becoming filled now and
then by the muffled forms of women of Belarab's household taking a
distant and curious view of the white man. All this was irksome. He
found his menaced life extremely difficult to get through. Yes, he
welcomed the arrival of Mrs. Travers who brought with her a tragic note
into the empty gloom.

"Suspicion is not in my nature, Mrs. Travers, I assure you, and I
hope that you on your side will never suspect either my reserve or my
frankness. I respect the mysterious nature of your conviction but hasn't
Jorgenson given you some occasion to. . ."

"He hates me," said Mrs. Travers, and frowned at d'Alcacer's incipient
smile. "It isn't a delusion on my part. The worst is that he hates me
not for myself. I believe he is completely indifferent to my existence.
Jorgenson hates me because as it were I represent you two who are in
danger, because it is you two that are the trouble and I . . . Well!"

"Yes, yes, that's certain," said d'Alcacer, hastily. "But Jorgenson is
wrong in making you the scapegoat. For if you were not here cool reason
would step in and would make Lingard pause in his passion to make a king
out of an exile. If we were murdered it would certainly make some stir
in the world in time and he would fall under the suspicion of complicity
with those wild and inhuman Moors. Who would regard the greatness of his
day-dreams, his engaged honour, his chivalrous feelings? Nothing could
save him from that suspicion. And being what he is, you understand me,
Mrs. Travers (but you know him much better than I do), it would morally
kill him."

"Heavens!" whispered Mrs. Travers. "This has never occurred to me."
Those words seemed to lose themselves in the folds of the scarf without
reaching d'Alcacer, who continued in his gentle tone:

'"However, as it is, he will be safe enough whatever happens. He will
have your testimony to clear him."

Mrs. Travers stood up, suddenly, but still careful to keep her face
covered, she threw the end of the scarf over her shoulder.

"I fear that Jorgenson," she cried with suppressed passion. "One can't
understand what that man means to do. I think him so dangerous that if I
were, for instance, entrusted with a message bearing on the situation, I
wo