Lingard, with his chin on his breast and his arms folded,
moved slowly here and there about the poop. Close and mute like his
shadow, Carter, at his elbow, followed his movements. He felt an anxious
solicitude. . . .
It was a sentiment perfectly new to him. He had never before felt this
sort of solicitude about himself or any other man. His personality was
being developed by new experience, and as he was very simple he received
the initiation with shyness and self-mistrust. He had noticed with
innocent alarm that Lingard had not looked either at the sky or over
the sea, neither at his own ship nor the schooner astern; not along the
decks, not aloft, not anywhere. He had looked at nothing! And somehow
Carter felt himself more lonely and without support than when he had
been left alone by that man in charge of two ships entangled amongst the
Shallows and environed by some sinister mystery. Since that man had come
back, instead of welcome relief Carter felt his responsibility rest on
his young shoulders with tenfold weight. His profound conviction was
that Lingard should be roused.
"Captain Lingard," he burst out in desperation; "you can't say I have
worried you very much since this morning when I received you at the
side, but I must be told something. What is it going to be with us?
Fight or run?"
Lingard stopped short and now there was no doubt in Carter's mind that
the Captain was looking at him.
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