Mrs. Travers looked at Lingard, because of all the faces in the cabin
his was the only one that was intelligible to her. Hassim began to speak
at once, and when he ceased Immada's deep sigh was heard in the sudden
silence. Then Lingard looked at Mrs. Travers and said:
"The gentlemen are alive. Rajah Hassim here has seen them less than two
hours ago, and so has the girl. They are alive and unharmed, so far. And
now. . . ."
He paused. Mrs. Travers, leaning on her elbow, shaded her eyes under the
glint of suspended thunderbolts.
"You must hate us," she murmured.
"Hate you," he repeated with, as she fancied, a tinge of disdain in his
tone. "No. I hate myself."
"Why yourself?" she asked, very low.
"For not knowing my mind," he answered. "For not knowing my mind. For
not knowing what it is that's got hold of me since--since this morning.
I was angry then. . . . Nothing but very angry. . . ."
"And now?" she murmured.
"I am . . . unhappy," he said. After a moment of silence which gave to
Mrs. Travers the time to wonder how it was that this man had succeeded
in penetrating into the very depths of her compassion, he hit the table
such a blow that all the heavy muskets seemed to jump a little.
Mrs. Travers heard Hassim pronounce a few words earnestly, and a moan of
distress from Immada.
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