eed, he looked as
if he had already passed through the preparation of a long vigil, for
his face was worn, and his eyes seldom smiled even when he laughed and
seemed amused. His features gave her an idea that the Creator had taken
a great deal of pains in chiselling them, not slighting a single line.
She had seen handsomer men--indeed, the splendid Arab on the ship was
handsomer--but she thought, if she were a general who wanted a man to
lead a forlorn hope which meant almost certain death, she would choose
one of Stephen's type. She had the impression that he would not hesitate
to sacrifice himself for a cause, or even for a person, in an emergency,
although he had the air of one used to good fortune, who loved to take
his own way in the small things of life.

And so she finally went to sleep thinking of Stephen.

It is seldom that even the _Charles Quex_, one of the fastest ships
plying between Marseilles and Algiers, makes the trip in eighteen hours,
as advertised. Generally she takes two half-days and a night, but this
time people began to say that she would do it in twenty-two hours. Very
early in the dawning she passed the Balearic Isles, mysterious purple in
an opal sea, and it was not yet noon when the jagged line of the Atlas
Mountains hovered in pale blue shadow along a paler horizon. Then, as
the turbines whirred, the shadow materialized, taking a golden solidity
and wildness of outline. At length the tower of a lighthouse started out
clear white against blue, as a shaft of sunshine struck it. Next, the
nearer mountains slowly turned to green, as a chameleon changes: the
Admiralty Island came clearly into view; the ancient nest of those
fierce pirates who for centuries scourged the Mediterranean; and last of
all, the climbing town of Algiers, old Al-Djezair-el-Bahadja, took form
like thick patterns of mother-o'-pearl set in bright green enamel, the
patterns eventually separating themselves into individual buildings.
The strange, bulbous domes of a Byzantine cathedral on a hill sprang up
like a huge tropical plant of many flowers, unfolding fantastic buds of
deep rose-colour, against a sky of violet flame.

"At last, Africa!" said Victoria, standing beside Stephen, and leaning
on the rail. She spoke to herself, half whispering the words, hardly
aware that she uttered them, but Stephen heard. The two had not been
long together during the morning, for each had been shy of giving too
much of himself or herself,