ken
place, and Decoud could see now the outline of his companion's figure,
and even the sail came out of the night like a square block of dense
snow.

The sound which Decoud had detected came along the water harshly.
Nostromo recognized that noise partaking of a hiss and a rustle which
spreads out on all sides of a steamer making her way through a smooth
water on a quiet night. It could be nothing else but the captured
transport with troops from Esmeralda. She carried no lights. The noise
of her steaming, growing louder every minute, would stop at times
altogether, and then begin again abruptly, and sound startlingly nearer;
as if that invisible vessel, whose position could not be precisely
guessed, were making straight for the lighter. Meantime, that last kept
on sailing slowly and noiselessly before a breeze so faint that it was
only by leaning over the side and feeling the water slip through his
fingers that Decoud convinced himself they were moving at all. His
drowsy feeling had departed. He was glad to know that the lighter
was moving. After so much stillness the noise of the steamer seemed
uproarious and distracting. There was a weirdness in not being able to
see her. Suddenly all was still. She had stopped, but so close to them
that the steam, blowing off, sent its rumbling vibration right over
their heads.

"They are trying to make out where they are," said Decoud in a whisper.
Again he leaned over and put his fingers into the water. "We are moving
quite smartly," he informed Nostromo.

"We seem to be crossing her bows," said the Capataz in a cautious tone.
"But this is a blind game with death. Moving on is of no use. We mustn't
be seen or heard."

His whisper was hoarse with excitement. Of all his face there was
nothing visible but a gleam of white eyeballs. His fingers gripped
Decoud's shoulder. "That is the only way to save this treasure from this
steamer full of soldiers. Any other would have carried lights. But you
observe there is not a gleam to show us where she is."

Decoud stood as if paralyzed; only his thoughts were wildly active. In
the space of a second he remembered the desolate glance of Antonia as he
left her at the bedside of her father in the gloomy house of Avellanos,
with shuttered windows, but all the doors standing open, and deserted by
all the servants except an old negro at the gate. He remembered the
Casa Gould on his last visit, the arguments, the tones of his voice,
the impenetr