“Stop,” he said, anxiously, “don't speak loud. No one must know. Where do your people think themselves, I wonder? In a dock at home? And you--”
“My husband is not on board,” she interrupted, hurriedly.
“Somebody must watch. Your people keep such a good look-out--don't they? Yes. Ever since dark one of my boats has been dodging astern here, in the deep water. I swore to myself I would never see one of you, never speak to one of you here, that I would be dumb, blind, deaf. And--here I am!”
Mrs. Travers' alarm and mistrust were replaced by an immense curiosity, burning, yet quiet, too, as if before the inevitable work of destiny. She looked downward at Lingard. His head was bared, and, with one hand upon the ship's side, he seemed to be thinking deeply.
“Because you had something more to tell us,” Mrs. Travers suggested, gently.
“Yes,” he said in a low tone and without moving in the least.
“Will you come on board and wait?” she asked.
“Who? I!” He lifted his head so quickly as to startle her. “I have nothing to say to him; and I'll never put my foot on board this craft. I've been told to go. That's enough.”
“He is accustomed to be addressed deferentially,” she said after a pause, “and you--”
These three words seemed to her to scatter her past in the air--like smoke. They robbed all the multitude of mankind of every vestige of importance. She was amazed to find that on this night, in this place, there could be no adequate answer to the searching naiveness of that question.
“I didn't ask for much,” Lingard began again. “Did I? Only that you all should come on board my brig for five days. That's all. . . . Do I look like a liar? There are things I could not tell him. I couldn't explain--I couldn't--not to him--to no man--to no man in the world--”
“Not to myself,” he ended as if in a dream.
“We have remained unmolested so long here,” began Mrs. Travers a little unsteadily, “that it makes it very difficult to believe in danger, now. We saw no one all these days except those two people who came for you. If you may not explain--”
“Of course, you can't be expected to see through a wall,” broke in Lingard. “This coast's like a wall, but I know what's on the other side. . . . A yacht here, of all things that float! When I set eyes on her I could fancy she hadn't been more than an hour from home. Nothing but the look of her spars made me think of old times. And then the faces of the chaps on board. I seemed to know them all. It was like home coming to me when I wasn't thinking of it. And I hated the sight of you all.”