Suddenly she saw that everybody was on deck.

“The light is down,” she stammered.

“The gentlemen are lost,” said Carter.  Then he perceived she did not seem to understand.  “Kidnapped off the sandbank,” he continued, looking at her fixedly to see how she would take it.  She seemed calm.  “Kidnapped like a pair of lambs!  Not a squeak,” he burst out with indignation.  “But the sandbank is long and they might have been at the other end.  You were on deck, ma’am?” he asked.

“Yes,” she murmured.  “In the chair here.”

“We were all down below.  I had to rest a little.  When I came up the watchman was asleep.  He swears he wasn’t, but I know better.  Nobody heard any noise, unless you did.  But perhaps you were asleep?” he asked, deferentially.

“Yes—­no—­I must have been,” she said, faintly.

VIII

Lingard’s soul was exalted by his talk with Mrs. Travers, by the strain of incertitude and by extreme fatigue.  On returning on board he asked after Hassim and was told that the Rajah and his sister had gone off in their canoe promising to return before midnight.  The boats sent to scout between the islets north and south of the anchorage had not come back yet.  He went into his cabin and throwing himself on the couch closed his eyes thinking:  “I must sleep or I shall go mad.”

At times he felt an unshaken confidence in Mrs. Travers—­then he remembered her face.  Next moment the face would fade, he would make an effort to hold on to the image, fail—­and then become convinced without the shadow of a doubt that he was utterly lost, unless he let all these people be wiped off the face of the earth.

“They all heard that man order me out of his ship,” he thought, and thereupon for a second or so he contemplated without flinching the lurid image of a massacre.  “And yet I had to tell her that not a hair of her head shall be touched.  Not a hair.”

And irrationally at the recollection of these words there seemed to be no trouble of any kind left in the world.  Now and then, however, there were black instants when from sheer weariness he thought of nothing at all; and during one of these he fell asleep, losing the consciousness of external things as suddenly as if he had been felled by a blow on the head.

When he sat up, almost before he was properly awake, his first alarmed conviction was that he had slept the night through.  There was a light in the cuddy and through the open door of his cabin he saw distinctly Mrs. Travers pass out of view across the lighted space.

“They did come on board after all,” he thought—­“how is it I haven’t been called!”

He darted into the cuddy.  Nobody!  Looking up at the clock in the skylight he was vexed to see it had stopped till his ear caught the faint beat of the mechanism.  It was going then!  He could not have been asleep more than ten minutes.  He had not been on board more than twenty!