I was never ill."
All this came out deadened in tone, as if the speaker's face had been
buried in the pillow. D'Alcacer resumed his pacing.
"I think I asked you where my wife was," said the muffled voice.
With great presence of mind d'Alcacer kept on pacing the Cage as if
he had not heard.--"You know, I think she is mad," went on the muffled
voice. "Unless I am."
Again d'Alcacer managed not to interrupt his regular pacing. "Do you
know what I think?" he said, abruptly. "I think, Travers, that you
don't want to talk about her. I think that you don't want to talk about
anything. And to tell you the truth I don't want to, either."
D'Alcacer caught a faint sigh from the pillow and at the same time saw
a small, dim flame appear outside the Cage. And still he kept on his
pacing. Mrs. Travers and Lingard coming out of the deckhouse stopped
just outside the door and Lingard stood the deck-lamp on its roof. They
were too far from d'Alcacer to be heard, but he could make them out:
Mrs. Travers, as straight as an arrow, and the heavy bulk of the man who
faced her with a lowered head. He saw it in profile against the light
and as if deferential in its slight droop. They were looking straight at
each other. Neither of them made the slightest gesture.
"There is that in me," Lingard murmured, deeply, "which would set my
heart harder than a stone.
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