II

Recovering himself with a slight start Lingard gave the order to extinguish all the lights in the brig.  Now the transfer of the crew from the yacht had been effected there was every advantage in the darkness.  He gave the order from instinct, it being the right thing to do in the circumstances.  His thoughts were in the cabin of his brig, where there was a woman waiting.  He put his hand over his eyes, collecting himself as if before a great mental effort.  He could hear about him the excited murmurs of the white men whom in the morning he had so ardently desired to have safe in his keeping.  He had them there now; but accident, ill-luck, a cursed folly, had tricked him out of the success of his plan.  He would have to go in and talk to Mrs. Travers.  The idea dismayed him.  Of necessity he was not one of those men who have the mastery of expression.  To liberate his soul was for him a gigantic undertaking, a matter of desperate effort, of doubtful success.  “I must have it out with her,” he murmured to himself as though at the prospect of a struggle.  He was uncertain of himself, of her; he was uncertain of everything and everybody; but he was very certain he wanted to look at her.

At the moment he turned to the door of the cabin both flares went out together and the black vault of the night upheld above the brig by the fierce flames fell behind him and buried the deck in sudden darkness.  The buzz of strange voices instantly hummed louder with a startled note.  “Hallo!”—­“Can’t see a mortal thing”—­“Well, what next?”—­insisted a voice—­“I want to know what next?”

Lingard checked himself ready to open the door and waited absurdly for the answer as though in the hope of some suggestion.  “What’s up with you?  Think yourself lucky,” said somebody.—­“It’s all very well—­for to-night,” began the voice.—­“What are you fashing yourself for?” remonstrated the other, reasonably, “we’ll get home right enough.”—­“I am not so sure; the second mate he says—­” “Never mind what he says; that ’ere man who has got this brig will see us through.  The owner’s wife will talk to him—­she will.  Money can do a lot.”  The two voices came nearer, and spoke more distinctly, close behind Lingard.  “Suppose them blooming savages set fire to the yacht.  What’s to prevent them?”—­“And suppose they do.  This ’ere brig’s good enough to get away in.  Ain’t she?  Guns and all.  We’ll get home yet all right.  What do you say, John?”

“I say nothing and care less,” said a third voice, peaceful and faint.

“D’you mean to say, John, you would go to the bottom as soon as you would go home?  Come now!”—­“To the bottom,” repeated the wan voice, composedly.  “Aye!  That’s where we all are going to, in one way or another.  The way don’t matter.”