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Updated: June 11, 2025
But, evidently, he kept a mysterious grip on events in the world of living men because he asked very naturally: "How did she get away?" "The lady wasn't on the sandbank," explained Lingard, curtly. "What sandbank?" muttered Jorgenson, perfunctorily. . . . "Is the yacht looted, Tom?" "Nothing of the kind," said Lingard. "Ah, many dead?" inquired Jorgenson.
Jorgenson let his old eyes wander amongst the gleams and shadows of the great sheet of water between him and that hostile shore and fancied he could detect a floating shadow having the characteristic shape of a man in a small canoe. "O! Ya! Man!" he hailed. "What do you want?" Other eyes, too, had detected that shadow. Low murmurs arose on the deck of the Emma.
A little garden, with tidy paths, and a grotto which was like a heap of rocks, lay in front of it. Jorgenson had planned it all himself. It was taken from him, and he had to remove to a poor quarter of the town, to live among the people to whom he rightly belonged, and to rent a house there. But he was not yet broken.
"What place do you belong to?" asked Lingard. "Tromso," groaned out Jorgenson; "I will never see snow again," he sobbed out, his face in his hands. Lingard looked at him in silence. "Would you come with me?" he said. "As I told you, I am in want of a " "I would see you damned first!" broke out the other, savagely. "I am an old white loafer, but you don't get me to meddle in their infernal affairs.
Travers felt the characteristic shape being pressed into her half-open palm. "Don't let anybody see it," Jorgenson admonished her in a murmur. "Hide it somewhere about you. Why not hang it round your neck?" Mrs. Travers' hand remained firmly closed on the ring. "Yes, that will do," she murmured, hastily. "I'll be back in a moment. Get everything ready."
Good idea, wasn't it? There will be, perhaps, no other such flood for years, and now they can't come alongside unless right under the counter, and only one boat at a time. I think you are perfectly safe here; you could keep off a whole fleet of boats; she isn't easy to set fire to; the forest in front is better than a wall. Well?" Jorgenson assented in grunts.
Travers' eyes the mere corpse of a ship and turned on her a pair of deep-sunk, expressionless eyes with an almost unearthly detachment. Mrs. Travers had never been looked at before with that strange and pregnant abstraction. Yet she didn't dislike Jorgenson. He was disturbing but he was not repulsive. He gave no sign of greeting. Lingard addressed him at once.
A great man. He had great riches but a greater heart." The memory of Jorgenson, emaciated and grey-haired, and trying to borrow five dollars to get something to eat for the girl, passed before Lingard suddenly upon the pacific glitter of the stars. "He resembled you," pursued Belarab, abruptly. "We escaped with him, and in his ship came here. It was a solitude.
I wish I had old Jorgenson here just for ten minutes." This Jorgenson knew things that had happened a long time ago, and lived amongst men efficient in meeting the accidents of the day, but who did not care what would happen to-morrow and who had no time to remember yesterday. Strictly speaking, he did not live amongst them. He only appeared there from time to time.
"Forgot nothing!" mumbled Jorgenson with a sort of ghostly assertiveness and as it were for his own satisfaction. "What's the world coming to?" "It was I who insisted on coming with Captain Lingard," said Mrs. Travers, treating Jorgenson to a fascinating sweetness of tone. "That's what I say! What is the world coming to? Hasn't King Tom a mind of his own? What has come over him? He's mad!
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