With a very few paddlers the heavy old European-built boat moved slowly over the water that seemed as pale and blazing as the sky above. Jorgenson had perched himself in the bow. The other four white people sat in the stern sheets, the ex-prisoners side by side in the middle. Lingard spoke suddenly.
“I want you both to understand that the trouble is not over yet. Nothing is finished. You are out on my bare word.”
While Lingard was speaking Mr. Travers turned his face away but d'Alcacer listened courteously. Not another word was spoken for the rest of the way. The two gentlemen went up the ship's side first. Lingard remained to help Mrs. Travers at the foot of the ladder. She pressed his hand strongly and looking down at his upturned face:
“This was a wonderful success,” she said.
For a time the character of his fascinated gaze did not change. It was as if she had said nothing. Then he whispered, admiringly, “You understand everything.”
She moved her eyes away and had to disengage her hand to which he clung for a moment, giddy, like a man falling out of the world.
III
Mrs. Travers, acutely aware of Lingard behind her, remained gazing over the lagoon. After a time he stepped forward and placed himself beside her close to the rail. She went on staring at the sheet of water turned to deep purple under the sunset sky.
“Why have you been avoiding me since we came back from the stockade?” she asked in a deadened voice.
“There is nothing to tell you till Rajah Hassim and his sister Immada return with some news,” Lingard answered in the same tone. “Has my friend succeeded? Will Belarab listen to any arguments? Will he consent to come out of his shell? Is he on his way back? I wish I knew! . . . Not a whisper comes from there! He may have started two days ago and he may be now near the outskirts of the Settlement. Or he may have gone into camp half way down, from some whim or other; or he may be already arrived for all I know. We should not have seen him. The road from the hills does not lead along the beach.”