V
The afternoon dragged itself out in silence. Mrs. Travers sat pensiveand idle with her fan on her knees. D'Alcacer, who thought the incidentshould have been treated in a conciliatory spirit, attempted tocommunicate his view to his host, but that gentleman, purposelymisunderstanding his motive, overwhelmed him with so many apologiesand expressions of regret at the irksome and perhaps inconvenient delay"which you suffer from through your good-natured acceptance of ourinvitation" that the other was obliged to refrain from pursuing thesubject further.
"Even my regard for you, my dear d'Alcacer, could not induce me tosubmit to such a bare-faced attempt at extortion," affirmed Mr. Traverswith uncompromising virtue. "The man wanted to force his servicesupon me, and then put in a heavy claim for salvage. That is the wholesecret--you may depend on it. I detected him at once, of course." Theeye-glass glittered perspicuously. "He underrated my intelligence; andwhat a violent scoundrel! The existence of such a man in the time welive in is a scandal."
D'Alcacer retired, and, full of vague forebodings, tried in vain forhours to interest himself in a book. Mr. Travers walked up and downrestlessly, trying to persuade himself that his indignation was basedon purely moral grounds. The glaring day, like a mass of white-hot ironwithdrawn from the fire, was losing gradually its heat and its glarein a richer deepening of tone. At the usual time two seamen, walkingnoiselessly aft in their yachting shoes, rolled up in silence thequarter-deck screens; and the coast, the shallows, the dark islets andthe snowy sandbanks uncovered thus day after day were seen once morein their aspect of dumb watchfulness. The brig, swung end on in theforeground, her squared yards crossing heavily the soaring symmetry ofthe rigging, resembled a creature instinct with life, with the power ofspringing into action lurking in the light grace of its repose.
A pair of stewards in white jackets with brass buttons appeared on deckand began to flit about without a sound, laying the table for dinner onthe flat top of the cabin skylight. The sun, drifting away towardother lands, toward other seas, toward other men; the sun, all red in acloudless sky raked the yacht with a parting salvo of crimson rays thatshattered themselves into sparks of fire upon the crystal and silverof the dinner-service, put a short flame into the blades of knives, andspread a rosy tint over the white of plates. A trail of purple, like asmear of blood on a blue shield, lay over the sea.
On sitting down Mr. Travers alluded in a vexed tone to the necessity ofliving on preserves, all the stock of fresh provisions for the passageto Batavia having been already consumed. It was distinctly unpleasant.
"I don't travel for my pleasure, however," he added; "and the beliefthat the sacrifice of my time and comfort will be productive of somegood to the world at large would make up for any amount of privations."
Mrs. Travers and d'Alcacer seemed unable to shake off a strong aversionto talk, and the conversation, like an expiring breeze, kept on dyingout repeatedly after each languid gust. The large silence of thehorizon, the profound repose of all things visible, enveloping thebodies and penetrating the souls with their quieting influence, stilledthought as well as voice. For a long time no one spoke. Behind thetaciturnity of the masters the servants hovered without noise.
Suddenly, Mr. Travers, as if concluding a train of thought, mutteredaloud:
"I own with regret I did in a measure lose my temper; but then you willadmit that the existence of such a man is a disgrace to civilization."
This remark was not taken up and he returned for a time to the nursingof his indignation, at the bottom of which, like a monster in a fog,crept a bizarre feeling of rancour. He waved away an offered dish.
"This coast," he began again, "has been placed under the sole protectionof Holland by the Treaty of 1820. The Treaty of 1820 creates specialrights and obligations. . . ."
Both his hearers felt vividly the urgent necessity to hear no more.D'Alcacer, uncomfortable on a campstool, sat stiff and stared at theglass stopper of a carafe. Mrs. Travers turned a little sideways andleaning on her elbow rested her head on the palm of her hand like onethinking about matters of profound import. Mr. Travers talked; he talkedinflexibly, in a harsh blank voice, as if reading a proclamation.The other two, as if in a state of incomplete trance, had their earsassailed by fragments of official verbiage.
"An international understanding--the duty to civilize--failed to carryout--compact--Canning--" D'Alcacer became attentive for a moment."--not that this attempt, almost amusing in its impudence, influences myopinion. I won't admit the possibility of any violence being offered topeople of our position. It is the social aspect of such an incident I amdesirous of criticising."
Here d'Alcacer lost himself again in the recollection of Mrs. Traversand Immada looking at each other--the beginning and the end, theflower and the leaf, the phrase and the cry. Mr. Travers' voice wenton dogmatic and obstinate for a long time. The end came with a certainvehemence.
"And if the inferior race must perish, it is a gain, a step toward theperfecting of society which is the aim of progress."
He ceased. The sparks of sunset in crystal and silver had gone out,and around the yacht the expanse of coast and Shallows seemed to await,unmoved, the coming of utter darkness. The dinner was over a long timeago and the patient stewards had been waiting, stoical in the downpourof words like sentries under a shower.
Mrs. Travers rose nervously and going aft began to gaze at the coast.Behind her the sun, sunk already, seemed to force through the mass ofwaters the glow of an unextinguishable fire, and below her feet, on eachside of the yacht, the lustrous sea, as if reflecting the colour of hereyes, was tinged a sombre violet hue.
D'Alcacer came up to her with quiet footsteps and for some time theyleaned side by side over the rail in silence. Then he said--"How quietit is!" and she seemed to perceive that the quietness of that eveningwas more profound and more significant than ever before. Almost withoutknowing it she murmured--"It's like a dream." Another long silenceensued; the tranquillity of the universe had such an August amplenessthat the sounds remained on the lips as if checked by the fear ofprofanation. The sky was limpid like a diamond, and under the lastgleams of sunset the night was spreading its veil over the earth. Therewas something precious and soothing in the beautifully serene end ofthat expiring day, of the day vibrating, glittering and ardent, anddying now in infinite peace, without a stir, without a tremor, without asigh--in the certitude of resurrection.
Then all at once the shadow deepened swiftly, the stars came out in acrowd, scattering a rain of pale sparks upon the blackness of the water,while the coast stretched low down, a dark belt without a gleam. Aboveit the top-hamper of the brig loomed indistinct and high.
Mrs. Travers spoke first.
"How unnaturally quiet! It is like a desert of land and water without aliving soul."
"One man at least dwells in it," said d'Alcacer, lightly, "and if he isto be believed there are other men, full of evil intentions."
"Do you think it is true?" Mrs. Travers asked.
Before answering d'Alcacer tried to see the expression of her face butthe obscurity was too profound already.
"How can one see a dark truth on such a dark night?" he said, evasively."But it is easy to believe in evil, here or anywhere else."
She seemed to be lost in thought for a while.
"And that man himself?" she asked.
After some time d'Alcacer began to speak slowly. "Rough, uncommon,decidedly uncommon of his kind. Not at all what Don Martin thinks him tobe. For the rest--mysterious to me. He is _your_ countryman after all--"
She seemed quite surprised by that view.
"Yes," she said, slowly. "But you know, I can not--what shall Isay?--imagine him at all. He has nothing in common with the mankind Iknow. There is nothing to begin upon. How does such a man live? What arehis thoughts? His actions? His affections? His--"
"His conventions," suggested d'Alcacer. "That would include everything."
Mr. Travers appeared suddenly behind them with a glowing cigar inhis teeth.
He took it between his fingers to declare with persistentacrimony that no amount of "scoundrelly intimidation" would prevent himfrom having his usual walk. There was about three hundred yards to thesouthward of the yacht a sandbank nearly a mile long, gleaming a silverywhite in the darkness, plumetted in the centre with a thicket of drybushes that rustled very loud in the slightest stir of the heavy nightair. The day after the stranding they had landed on it "to stretch theirlegs a bit," as the sailing-master defined it, and every evening since,as if exercising a privilege or performing a duty, the three paced therefor an hour backward and forward lost in dusky immensity, threading atthe edge of water the belt of damp sand, smooth, level, elastic to thetouch like living flesh and sweating a little under the pressure oftheir feet.
This time d'Alcacer alone followed Mr. Travers. Mrs. Travers heard themget into the yacht's smallest boat, and the night-watchman, tugging ata pair of sculls, pulled them off to the nearest point. Then the manreturned. He came up the ladder and she heard him say to someone ondeck:
"Orders to go back in an hour."
His footsteps died out forward, and a somnolent, unbreathing repose tookpossession of the stranded yacht.