IX
In a roomy cabin, furnished and fitted with austere comfort, Mr. Traversreposed at ease in a low bed-place under a snowy white sheet and a lightsilk coverlet, his head sunk in a white pillow of extreme purity. Afaint scent of lavender hung about the fresh linen. Though lying on hisback like a person who is seriously ill Mr. Travers was consciousof nothing worse than a great fatigue. Mr. Travers' restfulness hadsomething faintly triumphant in it. To find himself again on boardhis yacht had soothed his vanity and had revived his sense of his ownimportance. He contemplated it in a distant perspective, restored to itsproper surroundings and unaffected by an adventure too extraordinary totrouble a superior mind or even to remain in one's memory for any lengthof time. He was not responsible. Like many men ambitious ofdirecting the affairs of a nation, Mr. Travers disliked the sense ofresponsibility. He would not have been above evading it in case of need,but with perverse loftiness he really, in his heart, scorned it. Thatwas the reason why he was able to lie at rest and enjoy a sense ofreturning vigour. But he did not care much to talk as yet, and that waswhy the silence in the stateroom had lasted for hours. The bulkhead lamphad a green silk shade. It was unnecessary to admit for a moment theexistence of impudence or ruffianism. A discreet knocking at the cabindoor sounded deferential.
Mrs. Travers got up to see what was wanted, and returned withoututtering a single word to the folding armchair by the side of thebed-place, with an envelope in her hand which she tore open in thegreenish light. Mr. Travers remained incurious but his wife handed tohim an unfolded sheet of paper which he condescended to hold up to hiseyes. It contained only one line of writing. He let the paper fall onthe coverlet and went on reposing as before. It was a sick man's repose.Mrs. Travers in the armchair, with her hands on the arm-rests, had agreat dignity of attitude.
"I intend to go," she declared after a time.
"You intend to go," repeated Mr. Travers in a feeble, deliberate voice."Really, it doesn't matter what you decide to do. All this is of solittle importance. It seems to me that there can be no possible object."
"Perhaps not," she admitted. "But don't you think that the uttermostfarthing should always be paid?"
Mr. Travers' head rolled over on the pillow and gave a covertly scaredlook at that outspoken woman. But it rolled back again at once and thewhole man remained passive, the very embodiment of helpless exhaustion.Mrs. Travers noticed this, and had the unexpected impression that Mr.Travers was not so ill as he looked. "He's making the most of it. It'sa matter of diplomacy," she thought. She thought this without irony,bitterness, or disgust. Only her heart sank a little lower and she feltthat she could not remain in the cabin with that man for the rest of theevening. For all life--yes! But not for that evening.
"It's simply monstrous," murmured the man, who was either verydiplomatic or very exhausted, in a languid manner. "There is somethingabnormal in you."
Mrs. Travers got up swiftly.
"One comes across monstrous things. But I assure you that of all themonsters that wait on what you would call a normal existence the one Idread most is tediousness. A merciless monster without teeth or claws.Impotent. Horrible!"
She left the stateroom, vanishing out of it with noiseless resolution.No power on earth could have kept her in there for another minute. Ondeck she found a moonless night with a velvety tepid feeling in the air,and in the sky a mass of blurred starlight, like the tarnished tinsel ofa worn-out, very old, very tedious firmament. The usual routine of theyacht had been already resumed, the awnings had been stretched aft, asolitary round lamp had been hung as usual under the main boom. Out ofthe deep gloom behind it d'Alcacer, a long, loose figure, lounged in thedim light across the deck. D'Alcacer had got promptly in touch withthe store of cigarettes he owed to the Governor General's generosity. Alarge, pulsating spark glowed, illuminating redly the design of hislips under the fine dark moustache, the tip of his nose, his lean chin.D'Alcacer reproached himself for an unwonted light-heartedness whichhad somehow taken possession of him. He had not experienced that sort offeeling for years. Reprehensible as it was he did not want anything todisturb it. But as he could not run away openly from Mrs. Travers headvanced to meet her.
"I do hope you have nothing to tell me," he said with whimsicalearnestness.
"I? No! Have you?"
He assured her he had not, and proffered a request. "Don't let us telleach other anything, Mrs. Travers. Don't let us think of anything. Ibelieve it will be the best way to get over the evening." There was realanxiety in his jesting tone.
"Very well," Mrs. Travers assented, seriously. "But in that case we hadbetter not remain together." She asked, then, d'Alcacer to go below andsit with Mr. Travers who didn't like to be left alone. "Though he, too,doesn't seem to want to be told anything," she added, parenthetically,and went on: "But I must ask you something else, Mr. d'Alcacer. Ipropose to sit down in this chair and go to sleep--if I can. Will youpromise to call me about five o'clock? I prefer not to speak to any oneon deck, and, moreover, I can trust you."
He bowed in silence and went away slowly. Mrs. Travers, turning herhead, perceived a steady light at the brig's yard-arm, very bright amongthe tarnished stars. She walked aft and looked over the taffrail. It wasexactly like that other night. She half expected to hear presently thelow, rippling sound of an advancing boat. But the universe remainedwithout a sound. When she at last dropped into the deck chair she wasabsolutely at the end of her power of thinking. "I suppose that'show the condemned manage to get some sleep on the night before theexecution," she said to herself a moment before her eyelids closed as ifunder a leaden hand.
She woke up, with her face wet with tears, out of a vivid dream ofLingard in chain-mail armour and vaguely recalling a Crusader, butbare-headed and walking away from her in the depths of an impossiblelandscape. She hurried on to catch up with him but a throng ofbarbarians with enormous turbans came between them at the last momentand she lost sight of him forever in the flurry of a ghastly sand-storm.What frightened her most was that she had not been able to see his face.It was then that she began to cry over her hard fate. When she woke upthe tears were still rolling down her cheeks and she perceived in thelight of the deck-lamp d'Alcacer arrested a little way off.
"Did you have to speak to me?" she asked.
"No," said d'Alcacer. "You didn't give me time. When I came as far asthis I fancied I heard you sobbing. It must have been a delusion."
"Oh, no. My face is wet yet. It was a dream. I suppose it is fiveo'clock. Thank you for being so punctual. I have something to do beforesunrise."
D'Alcacer moved nearer. "I know. You have decided to keep an appointmenton the sandbank. Your husband didn't utter twenty words in all thesehours but he managed to tell me that piece of news."
"I shouldn't have thought," she murmured, vaguely.
"He wanted me to understand that it had no importance," stated d'Alcacerin a very serious tone.
"Yes. He knows what he is talking about," said Mrs. Travers in sucha bitter tone as to disconcert d'Alcacer for a moment. "I don't see asingle soul about the decks," Mrs. Travers continued, almost directly.
"The very watchmen are asleep," said d'Alcacer.
"There is nothing secret in this expedition, but I prefer not to callany one. Perhaps you wouldn't mind pulling me off yourself in our smallboat."
It seemed to her that d'Alcacer showed some hesitation. She added: "Ithas no importance, you know."
He bowed his assent and preceded her down the side in silence. When sheentered the boat he had the sculls ready and directly she sat down heshoved off. It was so dark yet that but for the brig's yard-arm light hecould not have kept his direction. He pulled a very deliberate stroke,looking over his shoulder frequently. It was Mrs. Travers who saw firstthe faint gleam of the uncovered sandspit on the black, quiet water.
"A little more to the left," she said. "No, the other way. . . ."D'Alcacer obeyed her directions but his stroke grew even slower thanbefore. She spoke again. "Don't you think that the
uttermost farthingshould always be paid, Mr. d'Alcacer?"
D'Alcacer glanced over his shoulder, then: "It would be the onlyhonourable way. But it may be hard. Too hard for our common fearfulhearts."
"I am prepared for anything."
He ceased pulling for a moment . . . "Anything that may be found ona sandbank," Mrs. Travers went on. "On an arid, insignificant, anddeserted sandbank."
D'Alcacer gave two strokes and ceased again.
"There is room for a whole world of suffering on a sandbank, for all thebitterness and resentment a human soul may be made to feel."
"Yes, I suppose you would know," she whispered while he gave a stroke ortwo and again glanced over his shoulder. She murmured the words:
"Bitterness, resentment," and a moment afterward became aware of thekeel of the boat running up on the sand. But she didn't move, andd'Alcacer, too, remained seated on the thwart with the blades of hissculls raised as if ready to drop them and back the dinghy out into deepwater at the first sign.
Mrs. Travers made no sign, but she asked, abruptly: "Mr. d'Alcacer, doyou think I shall ever come back?"
Her tone seemed to him to lack sincerity. But who could tell whatthis abruptness covered--sincere fear or mere vanity? He asked himselfwhether she was playing a part for his benefit, or only for herself.
"I don't think you quite understand the situation, Mrs. Travers. Idon't think you have a clear idea, either of his simplicity or of hisvisionary's pride."
She thought, contemptuously, that there were other things whichd'Alcacer didn't know and surrendered to a sudden temptation toenlighten him a little.
"You forget his capacity for passion and that his simplicity doesn'tknow its own strength."
There was no mistaking the sincerity of that murmur. "She has felt it,"d'Alcacer said to himself with absolute certitude. He wondered when,where, how, on what occasion? Mrs. Travers stood up in the stern sheetssuddenly and d'Alcacer leaped on the sand to help her out of the boat.
"Hadn't I better hang about here to take you back again?" he suggested,as he let go her hand.
"You mustn't!" she exclaimed, anxiously. "You must return to the yacht.There will be plenty of light in another hour. I will come to this spotand wave my handkerchief when I want to be taken off."
At their feet the shallow water slept profoundly, the ghostly gleam ofthe sands baffled the eye by its lack of form. Far off, the growth ofbushes in the centre raised a massive black bulk against the stars tothe southward. Mrs. Travers lingered for a moment near the boat as ifafraid of the strange solitude of this lonely sandbank and of this lonesea that seemed to fill the whole encircling universe of remote starsand limitless shadows. "There is nobody here," she whispered to herself.
"He is somewhere about waiting for you, or I don't know the man,"affirmed d'Alcacer in an undertone. He gave a vigorous shove which sentthe little boat into the water.
D'Alcacer was perfectly right. Lingard had come up on deck long beforeMrs. Travers woke up with her face wet with tears. The burial party hadreturned hours before and the crew of the brig were plunged insleep, except for two watchmen, who at Lingard's appearance retreatednoiselessly from the poop. Lingard, leaning on the rail, fell intoa sombre reverie of his past. Reproachful spectres crowded the air,animated and vocal, not in the articulate language of mortals butassailing him with faint sobs, deep sighs, and fateful gestures. When hecame to himself and turned about they vanished, all but one dark shapewithout sound or movement. Lingard looked at it with secret horror.
"Who's that?" he asked in a troubled voice.
The shadow moved closer: "It's only me, sir," said Carter, who had leftorders to be called directly the Captain was seen on deck.
"Oh, yes, I might have known," mumbled Lingard in some confusion. Herequested Carter to have a boat manned and when after a time the youngman told him that it was ready, he said "All right!" and remainedleaning on his elbow.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Carter after a longish silence, "but areyou going some distance?"
"No, I only want to be put ashore on the sandbank."
Carter was relieved to hear this, but also surprised. "There is nothingliving there, sir," he said.
"I wonder," muttered Lingard.
"But I am certain," Carter insisted. "The last of the women and childrenbelonging to those cut-throats were taken off by the sampans whichbrought you and the yacht-party out."
He walked at Lingard's elbow to the gangway and listened to his orders.
"Directly there is enough light to see flags by, make a signal to theschooner to heave short on her cable and loose her sails. If thereis any hanging back give them a blank gun, Mr. Carter. I will have noshilly-shallying. If she doesn't go at the word, by heavens, I willdrive her out. I am still master here--for another day."
The overwhelming sense of immensity, of disturbing emptiness, whichaffects those who walk on the sands in the midst of the sea, intimidatedMrs. Travers. The world resembled a limitless flat shadow which wasmotionless and elusive. Then against the southern stars she saw a humanform that isolated and lone appeared to her immense: the shape of agiant outlined amongst the constellations. As it approached herit shrank to common proportions, got clear of the stars, lost itsawesomeness, and became menacing in its ominous and silent advance. Mrs.Travers hastened to speak.
"You have asked for me. I am come. I trust you will have no reason toregret my obedience."
He walked up quite close to her, bent down slightly to peer into herface. The first of the tropical dawn put its characteristic cold sheeninto the sky above the Shore of Refuge.
Mrs. Travers did not turn away her head.
"Are you looking for a change in me? No. You won't see it. Now I knowthat I couldn't change even if I wanted to. I am made of clay that istoo hard."
"I am looking at you for the first time," said Lingard. "I never couldsee you before. There were too many things, too many thoughts, too manypeople. No, I never saw you before. But now the world is dead."
He grasped her shoulders, approaching his face close to hers. She neverflinched.
"Yes, the world is dead," she said. "Look your fill then. It won't befor long."
He let her go as suddenly as though she had struck him. The cold whitelight of the tropical dawn had crept past the zenith now and the expanseof the shallow waters looked cold, too, without stir or ripple withinthe enormous rim of the horizon where, to the west, a shadow lingeredstill.
"Take my arm," he said.
She did so at once, and turning their backs on the two ships they beganto walk along the sands, but they had not made many steps when Mrs.Travers perceived an oblong mound with a board planted upright at oneend. Mrs. Travers knew that part of the sands. It was here she used towalk with her husband and d'Alcacer every evening after dinner,while the yacht lay stranded and her boats were away in search ofassistance--which they had found--which they had found! This wassomething that she had never seen there before. Lingard had suddenlystopped and looked at it moodily. She pressed his arm to rouse him andasked, "What is this?"
"This is a grave," said Lingard in a low voice, and still gazing at theheap of sand. "I had him taken out of the ship last night. Strange," hewent on in a musing tone, "how much a grave big enough for one man onlycan hold. His message was to forget everything."
"Never, never," murmured Mrs. Travers. "I wish I had been on board theEmma. . . . You had a madman there," she cried out, suddenly. They movedon again, Lingard looking at Mrs. Travers who was leaning on his arm.
"I wonder which of us two was mad," he said.
"I wonder you can bear to look at me," she murmured. Then Lingard spokeagain.
"I had to see you once more."
"That abominable Jorgenson," she whispered to herself.
"No, no, he gave me my chance--before he gave me up."
Mrs. Travers disengaged her arm and Lingard stopped, too, facing her ina long silence.
"I could not refuse to meet you," said Mrs. Travers at last. "I
couldnot refuse you anything. You have all the right on your side and I don'tcare what you do or say. But I wonder at my own courage when I think ofthe confession I have to make." She advanced, laid her hand on Lingard'sshoulder and spoke earnestly. "I shuddered at the thought of meeting youagain. And now you must listen to my confession."
"Don't say a word," said Lingard in an untroubled voice and never takinghis eyes from her face. "I know already."
"You can't," she cried. Her hand slipped off his shoulder. "Then whydon't you throw me into the sea?" she asked, passionately. "Am I to liveon hating myself?"
"You mustn't!" he said with an accent of fear. "Haven't you understoodlong ago that if you had given me that ring it would have been just thesame?"
"Am I to believe this? No, no! You are too generous to a mere sham. Youare the most magnanimous of men but you are throwing it away on me.Do you think it is remorse that I feel? No. If it is anything it isdespair. But you must have known that--and yet you wanted to look at meagain."
"I told you I never had a chance before," said Lingard in an unmovedvoice. "It was only after I heard they gave you the ring that I felt thehold you have got on me. How could I tell before? What has hate or loveto do with you and me? Hate. Love. What can touch you? For me you standabove death itself; for I see now that as long as I live you will neverdie."
They confronted each other at the southern edge of the sands as ifafloat on the open sea. The central ridge heaped up by the winds maskedfrom them the very mastheads of the two ships and the growing brightnessof the light only augmented the sense of their invincible solitudein the awful serenity of the world. Mrs. Travers suddenly put her armacross her eyes and averted her face.
Then he added:
"That's all."
Mrs. Travers let fall her arm and began to retrace her steps,unsupported and alone. Lingard followed her on the edge of the sanduncovered by the ebbing tide. A belt of orange light appeared in thecold sky above the black forest of the Shore of Refuge and faded quicklyto gold that melted soon into a blinding and colourless glare. It wasnot till after she had passed Jaffir's grave that Mrs. Travers stole abackward glance and discovered that she was alone. Lingard had left herto herself. She saw him sitting near the mound of sand, his back bowed,his hands clasping his knees, as if he had obeyed the invincible call ofhis great visions haunting the grave of the faithful messenger. Shadingher eyes with her hand Mrs. Travers watched the immobility of that manof infinite illusions. He never moved, he never raised his head. It wasall over. He was done with her. She waited a little longer and then wentslowly on her way.
Shaw, now acting second mate of the yacht, came off with another handin a little boat to take Mrs. Travers on board. He stared at her like anoffended owl. How the lady could suddenly appear at sunrise waving herhandkerchief from the sandbank he could not understand. For, even if shehad managed to row herself off secretly in the dark, she could not havesent the empty boat back to the yacht. It was to Shaw a sort of impropermiracle.
D'Alcacer hurried to the top of the side ladder and as they met on deckMrs. Travers astonished him by saying in a strangely provoking tone:
"You were right. I have come back." Then with a little laugh whichimpressed d'Alcacer painfully she added with a nod downward, "andMartin, too, was perfectly right. It was absolutely unimportant."
She walked on straight to the taffrail and d'Alcacer followed her aft,alarmed at her white face, at her brusque movements, at the nervous wayin which she was fumbling at her throat. He waited discreetly till sheturned round and thrust out toward him her open palm on which he saw athick gold ring set with a large green stone.
"Look at this, Mr. d'Alcacer. This is the thing which I asked youwhether I should give up or conceal--the symbol of the last hour--thecall of the supreme minute. And he said it would have made nodifference! He is the most magnanimous of men and the uttermost farthinghas been paid. He has done with me. The most magnanimous . . . but thereis a grave on the sands by which I left him sitting with no glanceto spare for me. His last glance on earth! I am left with this thing.Absolutely unimportant. A dead talisman." With a nervous jerk she flungthe ring overboard, then with a hurried entreaty to d'Alcacer, "Stayhere a moment. Don't let anybody come near us," she burst into tears andturned her back on him.
Lingard returned on board his brig and in the early afternoon theLightning got under way, running past the schooner to give her a leadthrough the maze of Shoals. Lingard was on deck but never looked onceat the following vessel. Directly both ships were in clear water he wentbelow saying to Carter: "You know what to do."
"Yes, sir," said Carter.
Shortly after his Captain had disappeared from the deck Carter laid themain topsail to the mast. The Lightning lost her way while the schoonerwith all her light kites abroad passed close under her stern holding onher course. Mrs. Travers stood aft very rigid, gripping the rail withboth hands. The brim of her white hat was blown upward on one side andher yachting skirt stirred in the breeze. By her side d'Alcacer wavedhis hand courteously. Carter raised his cap to them.
During the afternoon he paced the poop with measured steps, with a pairof binoculars in his hand. At last he laid the glasses down, glanced atthe compass-card and walked to the cabin skylight which was open.
"Just lost her, sir," he said. All was still down there. He raised hisvoice a little:
"You told me to let you know directly I lost sight of the yacht."
The sound of a stifled groan reached the attentive Carter and a wearyvoice said, "All right, I am coming."
When Lingard stepped out on the poop of the Lightning the open waterhad turned purple already in the evening light, while to the east theShallows made a steely glitter all along the sombre line of the shore.Lingard, with folded arms, looked over the sea. Carter approached himand spoke quietly.
"The tide has turned and the night is coming on. Hadn't we better getaway from these Shoals, sir?"
Lingard did not stir.
"Yes, the night is coming on. You may fill the main topsail, Mr.Carter," he said and he relapsed into silence with his eyes fixed inthe southern board where the shadows were creeping stealthily toward thesetting sun. Presently Carter stood at his elbow again.
"The brig is beginning to forge ahead, sir," he said in a warning tone.
Lingard came out of his absorption with a deep tremor of his powerfulframe like the shudder of an uprooted tree.
"How was the yacht heading when you lost sight of her?" he asked.
"South as near as possible," answered Carter. "Will you give me a courseto steer for the night, sir?"
Lingard's lips trembled before he spoke but his voice was calm.
"Steer north," he said.
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