. "Hadn't I
better make some sort of fight of it?" he debated with himself. He saw
himself rushing at the naked spears without any enthusiasm. Or wouldn't
it be better to go forth to meet his doom (somewhere outside the
stockade on that horrible beach) with calm dignity. "Pah! I shall be
probably speared through the back in the beastliest possible fashion,"
he thought with an inward shudder. It was certainly not a shudder of
fear, for Mr. d'Alcacer attached no high value to life. It was a shudder
of disgust because Mr. d'Alcacer was a civilized man and though he had
no illusions about civilization he could not but admit the superiority
of its methods. It offered to one a certain refinement of form, a
comeliness of proceedings and definite safeguards against deadly
surprises. "How idle all this is," he thought, finally. His next thought
was that women were very resourceful. It was true, he went on meditating
with unwonted cynicism, that strictly speaking they had only one
resource but, generally, it served--it served.

He was surprised by his supremely shameless bitterness at this juncture.
It was so uncalled for. This situation was too complicated to be
entrusted to a cynical or shameless hope. There was nothing to trust to.
At this moment of his meditation he became aware of Lingard's approach.
He raised his head eagerly. D'Alcacer was not indifferent to his fate
and even to Mr. Travers' fate. He would fain learn. . . . But one look
at Lingard's face was enough. "It's no use asking him anything," he said
to himself, "for he cares for nothing just now."

Lingard sat down heavily on the other end of the bench, and d'Alcacer,
looking at his profile, confessed to himself that this was the most
masculinely good-looking face he had ever seen in his life. It was
an expressive face, too, but its present expression was also beyond
d'Alcacer's past experience. At the same time its quietness set up a
barrier against common curiosities and even common fears. No, it was
no use asking him anything. Yet something should be said to break the
spell, to call down again this man to the earth. But it was Lingard who
spoke first. "Where has Mrs. Travers gone?"

"She has gone . . . where naturally she would be anxious to go first of
all since she has managed to come to us," answered d'Alcacer, wording
his answer with the utmost regard for the delicacy of the situation.

The stillness of Lingard seemed to have grown even more impressive.