She was unable to make a sound.—­“Are you there?” Lingard asked, anxiously, so close to her now that she seemed to feel the very breath of his words on her face.  It revived her completely; she understood what she had to do.  She put her head and shoulders through the opening, was at once seized under the arms by an eager grip and felt herself pulled through with an irresistible force and with such haste that her scarf was dragged off her head, its fringes having caught in the rough timber.  The same eager grip lifted her up, stood her on her feet without her having to make any exertion toward that end.  She became aware that Lingard was trying to say something, but she heard only a confused stammering expressive of wonder and delight in which she caught the words “You . . . you . . .” deliriously repeated.  He didn’t release his hold of her; his helpful and irresistible grip had changed into a close clasp, a crushing embrace, the violent taking possession by an embodied force that had broken loose and was not to be controlled any longer.  As his great voice had done a moment before, his great strength, too, seemed able to fill all space in its enveloping and undeniable authority.  Every time she tried instinctively to stiffen herself against its might, it reacted, affirming its fierce will, its uplifting power.  Several times she lost the feeling of the ground and had a sensation of helplessness without fear, of triumph without exultation.  The inevitable had come to pass.  She had foreseen it—­and all the time in that dark place and against the red glow of camp fires within the stockade the man in whose arms she struggled remained shadowy to her eyes—­to her half-closed eyes.  She thought suddenly, “He will crush me to death without knowing it.”

He was like a blind force.  She closed her eyes altogether.  Her head fell back a little.  Not instinctively but with wilful resignation and as it were from a sense of justice she abandoned herself to his arms.  The effect was as though she had suddenly stabbed him to the heart.  He let her go so suddenly and completely that she would have fallen down in a heap if she had not managed to catch hold of his forearm.  He seemed prepared for it and for a moment all her weight hung on it without moving its rigidity by a hair’s breadth.  Behind her Mrs. Travers heard the heavy thud of blows on wood, the confused murmurs and movements of men.

A voice said suddenly, “It’s done,” with such emphasis that though, of course, she didn’t understand the words it helped her to regain possession of herself; and when Lingard asked her very little above a whisper:  “Why don’t you say something?” she answered readily, “Let me get my breath first.”