She released her firm hold of that iron forearm which fell slowly by Lingard’s side.  She had regained fully the possession of her personality.  There remained only a fading, slightly breathless impression of a short flight above that earth on which her feet were firmly planted now.  “And is that all?” she asked herself, not bitterly, but with a sort of tender contempt.

“He is so sane,” sounded Lingard’s voice, gloomily, “that if I had listened to him you would not have found me here.”

“What do you mean by here?  In this stockade?”

“Anywhere,” he said.

“And what would have happened then?”

“God knows,” he answered.  “What would have happened if the world had not been made in seven days?  I have known you for just about that time.  It began by me coming to you at night—­like a thief in the night.  Where the devil did I hear that?  And that man you are married to thinks I am no better than a thief.”

“It ought to be enough for you that I never made a mistake as to what you are, that I come to you in less than twenty-four hours after you left me contemptuously to my distress.  Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me call after you.  Oh, yes, you heard.  The whole ship heard me for I had no shame.”

“Yes, you came,” said Lingard, violently.  “But have you really come?  I can’t believe my eyes!  Are you really here?”

“This is a dark spot, luckily,” said Mrs. Travers.  “But can you really have any doubt?” she added, significantly.

He made a sudden movement toward her, betraying so much passion that Mrs. Travers thought, “I shan’t come out alive this time,” and yet he was there, motionless before her, as though he had never stirred.  It was more as though the earth had made a sudden movement under his feet without being able to destroy his balance.  But the earth under Mrs. Travers’ feet had made no movement and for a second she was overwhelmed by wonder not at this proof of her own self-possession but at the man’s immense power over himself.  If it had not been for her strange inward exhaustion she would perhaps have surrendered to that power.  But it seemed to her that she had nothing in her worth surrendering, and it was in a perfectly even tone that she said, “Give me your arm, Captain Lingard.  We can’t stay all night on this spot.”

As they moved on she thought, “There is real greatness in that man.”  He was great even in his behaviour.  No apologies, no explanations, no abasement, no violence, and not even the slightest tremor of the frame holding that bold and perplexed soul.  She knew that for certain because her fingers were resting lightly on Lingard’s arm while she walked slowly by his side as though he were taking her down to dinner.  And yet she couldn’t suppose for a moment, that, like herself, he was emptied of all emotion.  She never before was so aware of him as a dangerous force.  “He is really ruthless,” she thought.  They had just left the shadow of the inner defences about the gate when a slightly hoarse, apologetic voice was heard behind them repeating insistently, what even Mrs. Travers’ ear detected to be a sort of formula.  The words were:  “There is this thing—­there is this thing—­there is this thing.”  They turned round.