At times Mrs. Travers had in the darkness the
impression of dizzy speed, and again it seemed to her that the boat was
standing still, that everything in the world was standing still and only
her fancy roamed free from all trammels. Lingard, perfectly motionless
by her side, steered, shaping his course by the feel of the wind.
Presently he perceived ahead a ghostly flicker of faint, livid light
which the earth seemed to throw up against the uniform blackness of
the sky. The dinghy was approaching the expanse of the Shallows. The
confused clamour of broken water deepened its note.
"How long are we going to sail like this?" asked Mrs. Travers, gently.
She did not recognize the voice that pronounced the word "Always" in
answer to her question. It had the impersonal ring of a voice without a
master. Her heart beat fast.
"Captain Lingard!" she cried.
"Yes. What?" he said, nervously, as if startled out of a dream.
"I asked you how long we were going to sail like this," she repeated,
distinctly.
"If the breeze holds we shall be in the lagoon soon after daybreak. That
will be the right time, too. I shall leave you on board the hulk with
Jorgenson."
"And you? What will you do?" she asked. She had to wait for a while.
"I will do what I can," she heard him say at last.
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