eath
before the simple finality of action. Mrs. Travers caught her breath:
"To-night! To-night!" she whispered. D'Alcacer's dark and misty
silhouette became more blurred. He had seen her sign and had retreated
deeper within the Cage.

"Yes, to-night," affirmed Lingard. "Now, at once, within the hour, this
moment," he murmured, fiercely, following Mrs. Travers in her recoiling
movement. She felt her arm being seized swiftly. "Don't you see that
if it is to do any good, that if they are not to be delivered to mere
slaughter, it must be done while all is dark ashore, before an armed mob
in boats comes clamouring alongside? Yes. Before the night is an hour
older, so that I may be hammering at Belarab's gate while all the
Settlement is still asleep."

Mrs. Travers didn't dream of protesting. For the moment she was unable
to speak. This man was very fierce and just as suddenly as it had been
gripped (making her think incongruously in the midst of her agitation
that there would be certainly a bruise there in the morning) she felt
her arm released and a penitential tone come into Lingard's murmuring
voice.

"And even now it's nearly too late! The road was plain, but I saw you on
it and my heart failed me. I was there like an empty man and I dared
not face you. You must forgive me. No, I had no right to doubt you for
a moment. I feel as if I ought to go on my knees and beg your pardon for
forgetting what you are, for daring to forget."

"Why, King Tom, what is it?"

"It seems as if I had sinned," she heard him say. He seized her by the
shoulders, turned her about, moved her forward a step or two. His hands
were heavy, his force irresistible, though he himself imagined he was
handling her gently. "Look straight before you," he growled into her
ear. "Do you see anything?" Mrs. Travers, passive between the rigid
arms, could see nothing but, far off, the massed, featureless shadows of
the shore.

"No, I see nothing," she said.

"You can't be looking the right way," she heard him behind her. And now
she felt her head between Lingard's hands. He moved it the least bit to
the right. "There! See it?"

"No. What am I to look for?"

"A gleam of light," said Lingard, taking away his hands suddenly. "A
gleam that will grow into a blaze before our boat can get half way
across the lagoon."

Even as Lingard spoke Mrs. Travers caught sight of a red spark far
away. She had looked often enough at the Settlement, as on the face of
a