. It was not what Belarab
would either suddenly do or leisurely determine upon that Lingard was
afraid of. The danger was that in his taciturn hesitation, which had
something hopelessly godlike in its remote calmness, the man would do
nothing and leave his white friend face to face with unruly impulses
against which Lingard had no means of action but force which he dared
not use since it would mean the destruction of his plans and the
downfall of his hopes; and worse still would wear an aspect of treachery
to Hassim and Immada, those fugitives whom he had snatched away from
the jaws of death on a night of storm and had promised to lead back
in triumph to their own country he had seen but once, sleeping unmoved
under the wrath and fire of heaven.

On the afternoon of the very day he had arrived with her on board the
Emma--to the infinite disgust of Jorgenson--Lingard held with Mrs.
Travers (after she had had a couple of hours' rest) a long, fiery, and
perplexed conversation. From the nature of the problem it could not be
exhaustive; but toward the end of it they were both feeling thoroughly
exhausted. Mrs. Travers had no longer to be instructed as to facts and
possibilities. She was aware of them only too well and it was not her
part to advise or argue. She was not called upon to decide or to plead.
The situation was far beyond that. But she was worn out with watching
the passionate conflict within the man who was both so desperately
reckless and so rigidly restrained in the very ardour of his heart and
the greatness of his soul. It was a spectacle that made her forget
the actual questions at issue. This was no stage play; and yet she had
caught herself looking at him with bated breath as at a great actor on a
darkened stage in some simple and tremendous drama. He extorted from her
a response to the forces that seemed to tear at his single-minded
brain, at his guileless breast. He shook her with his own struggles, he
possessed her with his emotions and imposed his personality as if its
tragedy were the only thing worth considering in this matter. And
yet what had she to do with all those obscure and barbarous things?
Obviously nothing. Unluckily she had been taken into the confidence of
that man's passionate perplexity, a confidence provoked apparently by
nothing but the power of her personality. She was flattered, and even
more, she was touched by it; she was aware of something that resembled
gratitude and provoked a so