“I have been lately exhorted to patience,” she said in the same easy tone.  “I can wait and I imagine I shall have to wait till the morning.”

“It can’t be very late yet,” he said.  “Time with us has been standing still for ever so long.  And yet this may be the hour of fate.”

“Is this the feeling you have at this particular moment?”

“I have had that feeling for a considerable number of moments already.  At first it was exciting.  Now I am only moderately anxious.  I have employed my time in going over all my past life.”

“Can one really do that?”

“Yes.  I can’t say I have been bored to extinction.  I am still alive, as you see; but I have done with that and I feel extremely idle.  There is only one thing I would like to do.  I want to find a few words that could convey to you my gratitude for all your friendliness in the past, at the time when you let me see so much of you in London.  I felt always that you took me on my own terms and that so kindly that often I felt inclined to think better of myself.  But I am afraid I am wearying you, Mrs. Travers.”

“I assure you you have never done that—­in the past.  And as to the present moment I beg you not to go away.  Stay by me please.  We are not going to pretend that we are sleepy at this early hour.”

D’Alcacer brought a stool close to the long chair and sat down on it.  “Oh, yes, the possible hour of fate,” he said.  “I have a request to make, Mrs. Travers.  I don’t ask you to betray anything.  What would be the good?  The issue when it comes will be plain enough.  But I should like to get a warning, just something that would give me time to pull myself together, to compose myself as it were.  I want you to promise me that if the balance tips against us you will give me a sign.  You could, for instance, seize the opportunity when I am looking at you to put your left hand to your forehead like this.  It is a gesture that I have never seen you make, and so. . . .”

“Jorgenson!” Lingard’s voice was heard forward where the light of a lantern appeared suddenly.  Then, after a pause, Lingard was heard again:  “Here!”

Then the silent minutes began to go by.  Mrs. Travers reclining in her chair and d’Alcacer sitting on the stool waited motionless without a word.  Presently through the subdued murmurs and agitation pervading the dark deck of the Emma Mrs. Travers heard a firm footstep, and, lantern in hand, Lingard appeared outside the muslin cage.

“Will you come out and speak to me?” he said, loudly.  “Not you.  The lady,” he added in an authoritative tone as d’Alcacer rose hastily from the stool.  “I want Mrs. Travers.”

“Of course,” muttered d’Alcacer to himself and as he opened the door of the Cage to let Mrs. Travers slip through he whispered to her, “This is the hour of fate.”

She brushed past him swiftly without the slightest sign that she had heard the words.  On the after deck between the Cage and the deckhouse Lingard waited, lantern in hand.  Nobody else was visible about; but d’Alcacer felt in the air the presence of silent and excited beings hovering outside the circle of light.  Lingard raised the lantern as Mrs. Travers approached and d’Alcacer heard him say: