“On deck there! Any wind?”
All was still for a moment. Somebody above answered in a leisurely tone:
“A steady little draught from the northward.”
Then after a pause added in a mutter:
“Pitch dark.”
“Aye, dark enough,” murmured Lingard. He must do something. Now. At once. The world was waiting. The world full of hopes and fear. What should he do? Instead of answering that question he traced the ungleaming coils of her twisted hair and became fascinated by a stray lock at her neck. What should he do? No one to leave his brig to. The voice that had answered his question was Carter's voice. “He is hanging about keeping his eye on me,” he said to Mrs. Travers. She shook her head and tried to smile. The man above coughed discreetly. “No,” said Lingard, “you must understand that you have nothing to give.”
The man on deck who seemed to have lingered by the skylight was heard saying quietly, “I am at hand if you want me, Mrs. Travers.” Hassim and Immada looked up. “You see,” exclaimed Lingard. “What did I tell you? He's keeping his eye on me! On board my own ship. Am I dreaming? Am I in a fever? Tell him to come down,” he said after a pause. Mrs. Travers did so and Lingard thought her voice very commanding and very sweet. “There's nothing in the world I love so much as this brig,” he went on. “Nothing in the world. If I lost her I would have no standing room on the earth for my feet. You don't understand this. You can't.”
Carter came in and shut the cabin door carefully. He looked with serenity at everyone in turn.
“All quiet?” asked Lingard.
“Quiet enough if you like to call it so,” he answered. “But if you only put your head outside the door you'll hear them all on the quarter-deck snoring against each other, as if there were no wives at home and no pirates at sea.”