"You can't be looking the right way," she heard him behind her. And now
she felt her head between Lingard's hands. He moved it the least bit to
the right. "There! See it?"
"No. What am I to look for?"
"A gleam of light," said Lingard, taking away his hands suddenly. "A
gleam that will grow into a blaze before our boat can get half way
across the lagoon."
Even as Lingard spoke Mrs. Travers caught sight of a red spark far
away. She had looked often enough at the Settlement, as on the face of
a painting on a curtain, to have its configuration fixed in her mind,
to know that it was on the beach at its end furthest from Belarab's
stockade.
"The brushwood is catching," murmured Lingard in her ear. "If they had
some dry grass the whole pile would be blazing by now."
"And this means. . . ."
"It means that the news has spread. And it is before Tengga's enclosure
on his end of the beach. That's where all the brains of the Settlement
are. It means talk and excitement and plenty of crafty words. Tengga's
fire! I tell you, Mrs. Travers, that before half an hour has passed
Daman will be there to make friends with the fat Tengga, who is ready to
say to him, 'I told you so'."
"I see," murmured Mrs. Travers. Lingard drew her gently to the rail.
"And now look over there at the other end of the beach where the shadows
are heaviest.
Pages:
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412