“Let them die!” cried Immada, triumphantly.

Though Lingard alone understood the meaning of these words, all on board felt oppressed by the uneasy silence which followed her cry.

“Ah!  He is going.  Now, Mrs. Travers,” whispered d’Alcacer.

“I hope!” said Mrs. Travers, impulsively, and stopped as if alarmed at the sound.

Lingard stood still.

“I hope,” she began again, “that this poor girl will know happier days—­” She hesitated.

Lingard waited, attentive and serious.

“Under your care,” she finished.  “And I believe you meant to be friendly to us.”

“Thank you,” said Lingard with dignity.

“You and d’Alcacer,” observed Mr. Travers, austerely, “are unnecessarily detaining this—­ah—­person, and—­ah—­friends—­ah!”

“I had forgotten you—­and now—­what?  One must—­it is hard—­hard—­” went on Lingard, disconnectedly, while he looked into Mrs. Travers’ violet eyes, and felt his mind overpowered and troubled as if by the contemplation of vast distances.  “I—­you don’t know—­I—­you—­cannot . . .  Ha!  It’s all that man’s doing,” he burst out.

For a time, as if beside himself, he glared at Mrs. Travers, then flung up one arm and strode off toward the gangway, where Hassim and Immada waited for him, interested and patient.  With a single word “Come,” he preceded them down into the boat.  Not a sound was heard on the yacht’s deck, while these three disappeared one after another below the rail as if they had descended into the sea.

V

The afternoon dragged itself out in silence.  Mrs. Travers sat pensive and idle with her fan on her knees.  D’Alcacer, who thought the incident should have been treated in a conciliatory spirit, attempted to communicate his view to his host, but that gentleman, purposely misunderstanding his motive, overwhelmed him with so many apologies and expressions of regret at the irksome and perhaps inconvenient delay “which you suffer from through your good-natured acceptance of our invitation” that the other was obliged to refrain from pursuing the subject further.

“Even my regard for you, my dear d’Alcacer, could not induce me to submit to such a bare-faced attempt at extortion,” affirmed Mr. Travers with uncompromising virtue.  “The man wanted to force his services upon me, and then put in a heavy claim for salvage.  That is the whole secret—­you may depend on it.  I detected him at once, of course.”  The eye-glass glittered perspicuously.  “He underrated my intelligence; and what a violent scoundrel!  The existence of such a man in the time we live in is a scandal.”