“He is all right,” interjected Lingard.

“And he is innocent.  I remember what you have said—­that the innocent must take their chance.  Well, then, do what is right.”

“You think it would be right?  You believe it?  You feel it?”

“At this time, in this place, from a man like you—­Yes, it is right.”

Lingard thought that woman wonderfully true to him and wonderfully fearless with herself.  The necessity to take back the two captives to the stockade was so clear and unavoidable now, that he believed nothing on earth could have stopped him from doing so, but where was there another woman in the world who would have taken it like this?  And he reflected that in truth and courage there is found wisdom.  It seemed to him that till Mrs. Travers came to stand by his side he had never known what truth and courage and wisdom were.  With his eyes on her face and having been told that in her eyes he appeared worthy of being both commanded and entreated, he felt an instant of complete content, a moment of, as it were, perfect emotional repose.

During the silence Mrs. Travers with a quick side-glance noticed d’Alcacer as one sees a man in a mist, his mere dark shape arrested close to the muslin screen.  She had no doubt that he was looking in their direction and that he could see them much more plainly than she could see him.  Mrs. Travers thought suddenly how anxious he must be; and she remembered that he had begged her for some sign, for some warning, beforehand, at the moment of crisis.  She had understood very well his hinted request for time to get prepared.  If he was to get more than a few minutes, this was the moment to make him a sign—­the sign he had suggested himself.  Mrs. Travers moved back the least bit so as to let the light fall in front of her and with a slow, distinct movement she put her left hand to her forehead.

“Well, then,” she heard Lingard’s forcible murmur, “well, then, Mrs. Travers, it must be done to-night.”

One may be true, fearless, and wise, and yet catch one’s breath before the simple finality of action.  Mrs. Travers caught her breath:  “To-night!  To-night!” she whispered.  D’Alcacer’s dark and misty silhouette became more blurred.  He had seen her sign and had retreated deeper within the Cage.

“Yes, to-night,” affirmed Lingard.  “Now, at once, within the hour, this moment,” he murmured, fiercely, following Mrs. Travers in her recoiling movement.  She felt her arm being seized swiftly.  “Don’t you see that if it is to do any good, that if they are not to be delivered to mere slaughter, it must be done while all is dark ashore, before an armed mob in boats comes clamouring alongside?  Yes.  Before the night is an hour older, so that I may be hammering at Belarab’s gate while all the Settlement is still asleep.”

Mrs. Travers didn’t dream of protesting.  For the moment she was unable to speak.  This man was very fierce and just as suddenly as it had been gripped (making her think incongruously in the midst of her agitation that there would be certainly a bruise there in the morning) she felt her arm released and a penitential tone come into Lingard’s murmuring voice.