crack of a
cabin door. Awful thought. And that door was in that part of the saloon
remaining in the shadow of the other half of the curtain. I pointed at
it and I suppose that old man inside saw me pointing. The captain had a
wonderful self-command. You couldn't have guessed anything from his
face. Well, it was perhaps more thoughtful than usual. And indeed this
was something to think about. But I couldn't think steadily. My brain
would give a sort of jerk and then go dead again. I had lost all notion
of time, and I might have been looking at the captain for days and months
for all I knew before I heard him whisper to me fiercely: "Not a word!"
This jerked me out of that trance I was in and I said "No! No! I didn't
mean even you."

"I wanted to explain my conduct, my intentions, but I read in his eyes
that he understood me and I was only too glad to leave off. And there we
were looking at each other, dumb, brought up short by the question "What
next?"

"I thought Captain Anthony was a man of iron till I saw him suddenly
fling his head to the right and to the left fiercely, like a wild animal
at bay not knowing which way to break out . . . "

* * * * *

"Truly," commented Marlow, "brought to bay was not a bad comparison; a
better one than Mr. Powell was aware of. At that moment the appearance
of Flora could not but bring the tension to the breaking point. She came
out in all innocence but not without vague dread. Anthony's exclamation
on first seeing Powell had reached her in her cabin, where, it seems, she
was brushing her hair. She had heard the very words. "What are you
doing here?" And the unwonted loudness of the voice--his voice--breaking
the habitual stillness of that hour would have startled a person having
much less reason to be constantly apprehensive, than the captive of
Anthony's masterful generosity. She had no means to guess to whom the
question was addressed and it echoed in her heart, as Anthony's voice
always did. Followed complete silence. She waited, anxious, expectant,
till she could stand the strain no longer, and with the weary mental
appeal of the overburdened. "My God! What is it now?" she opened the
door of her room and looked into the saloon. Her first glance fell on
Powell. For a moment, seeing only the second officer with Anthony, she
felt relieved and made as if to draw back; but her sharpened perception
detected something suspicious in their attitudes, and she c