United States or Liberia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Travers said, suddenly, "That Jorgenson is not friendly to us." "Possibly." With clasped hands and leaning over his knees d'Alcacer had assented in a very low tone. Mrs. Travers, unobserved, pressed her hands to her breast and felt the shape of the ring, thick, heavy, set with a big stone. It was there, secret, hung against her heart, and enigmatic. What did it mean? What could it mean?
He gave a vigorous shove which sent the little boat into the water. D'Alcacer was perfectly right. Lingard had come up on deck long before Mrs. Travers woke up with her face wet with tears. The burial party had returned hours before and the crew of the brig were plunged in sleep, except for two watchmen, who at Lingard's appearance retreated noiselessly from the poop.
Thank you for being so punctual. I have something to do before sunrise." D'Alcacer moved nearer. "I know. You have decided to keep an appointment on the sandbank. Your husband didn't utter twenty words in all these hours but he managed to tell me that piece of news." "I shouldn't have thought," she murmured, vaguely.
But she didn't move, and d'Alcacer, too, remained seated on the thwart with the blades of his sculls raised as if ready to drop them and back the dinghy out into deep water at the first sign. Mrs. Travers made no sign, but she asked, abruptly: "Mr. d'Alcacer, do you think I shall ever come back?" Her tone seemed to him to lack sincerity.
But our picturesque visitor has none of it. I've a great liking for him." "Already!" breathed out Mrs. Travers, with a smile that touched her lips with its bright wing and was flown almost before it could be seen. "There is liking at first sight," affirmed d'Alcacer, "as well as love at first sight the coup de foudre you know."
"Let them die!" cried Immada, triumphantly. Though Lingard alone understood the meaning of these words, all on board felt oppressed by the uneasy silence which followed her cry. "Ah! He is going. Now, Mrs. Travers," whispered d'Alcacer. "I hope!" said Mrs. Travers, impulsively, and stopped as if alarmed at the sound. Lingard stood still.
"I am afraid it would," she admitted, nervously. D'Alcacer made a gesture as if to beg her to say no more and at once crossed over to Mr. Travers' side of the Cage. He did not want to give himself time to think about his task. Mr. Travers was sitting up on the camp bedstead with a light cotton sheet over his legs.
Close against her, her diaphanous shadow on the muslin reproduced her slightest movements. D'Alcacer turned his eyes away. "No! No barbarian shall touch you. Because if it comes to that I believe he would be capable of killing you himself." A minute elapsed before he stole a glance in her direction.
"A special opportunity. How did you manage to create it?" This was too much for Mrs. Travers. "I! Create it!" she exclaimed, indignantly, but under her breath. "How on earth do you think I could have done it?" Mr. d'Alcacer, as if communing with himself, was heard to murmur unrepentantly that indeed women seldom knew how they had "done it," to which Mrs.
Travers in a weary tone returned the remark that no two men were dense in the same way. To this Mr. d'Alcacer assented without difficulty. "Yes, our brand presents more varieties. This, from a certain point of view, is obviously to our advantage. We interest. . . . Not that I imagine myself interesting to you, Mrs. Travers. But what about the Man of Fate?" "Oh, yes," breathed out Mrs. Travers.
Word Of The Day