"I see a lot of lights moving about her decks. Anything wrong, do you
think, sir?"
"No, I know what it is," said Lingard in a tone of elation. She has done
it! he thought.
He returned to the cabin, put away Jorgenson's letter and pulled out the
drawer of the table. It was full of cartridges. He took a musket down,
loaded it, then took another and another. He hammered at the waddings
with fierce joyousness. The ramrods rang and jumped. It seemed to him
he was doing his share of some work in which that woman was playing her
part faithfully. "She has done it," he repeated, mentally. "She will sit
in the cuddy. She will sleep in my berth. Well, I'm not ashamed of the
brig. By heavens--no! I shall keep away: never come near them as I've
promised. Now there's nothing more to say. I've told her everything at
once. There's nothing more."
He felt a heaviness in his burning breast, in all his limbs as if the
blood in his veins had become molten lead.
"I shall get the yacht off. Three, four days--no, a week."
He found he couldn't do it under a week. It occurred to him he would see
her every day till the yacht was afloat. No, he wouldn't intrude, but he
was master and owner of the brig after all. He didn't mean to skulk like
a whipped cur about his own decks.
"It'll be ten days before the schooner is ready.
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