The ruddy glare smote Mrs. Travers' closed eyelids but she
didn't open her eyes till she felt the canoe touch the strand. The two
men leaped instantly out of it. Mrs. Travers rose, abruptly. Nobody made
a sound. She stumbled out of the canoe on to the beach and almost before
she had recovered her balance the torch was thrust into her hand.
The heat, the nearness of the blaze confused and blinded her till,
instinctively, she raised the torch high above her head. For a moment
she stood still, holding aloft the fierce flame from which a few sparks
were falling slowly.
A naked bronze arm lighted from above pointed out the direction and Mrs.
Travers began to walk toward the featureless black mass of the stockade.
When after a few steps she looked back over her shoulder, the lagoon,
the beach, the canoe, the men she had just left had become already
invisible. She was alone bearing up a blazing torch on an earth that was
a dumb shadow shifting under her feet. At last she reached firmer ground
and the dark length of the palisade untouched as yet by the light of the
torch seemed to her immense, intimidating. She felt ready to drop from
sheer emotion. But she moved on.
"A little more to the left," shouted a strong voice.
It vibrated through all her fibres, rousing like the call of a trumpet,
went far beyond her, filled all the space.
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