It was early morning when they came at last into port. When Sybil
appeared on deck she found it crowded with excited men, and the hubbub
was deafening. A multitude of small boats buzzed to and fro on the
tumbling waters below them, and she expected every instant to see one
swamped as the great ship floated majestically through the throng.
She had anticipated a crowd of people on the wharf to witness their
arrival, but the knot of men gathered there scarcely numbered a score.
She scanned them eagerly, but it took only a very few seconds to
convince her that Robin Wentworth was not among them. And there had been
no letter from him at Colombo.
"They don't allow many people on the wharf," said Mercer's voice behind
her. "There will be more on the other side of the Customs house."
She looked up at him, bravely smiling, though her heart was throbbing
almost to suffocation and she could not speak a word.
He passed on into the crowd and she lost sight of him.
There followed a delay of nearly half-an-hour, during which she stood
where she was in the glaring sunshine, dumbly watching. The town, with
its many buildings, its roar of traffic; the harbour, with its ships and
its hooting sirens; the hot sky, the water that shone like molten brass;
all were stamped upon her aching brain with nightmare distinctness. She
felt as one caught in some pitiless machine that would crush her to
atoms before she could escape.
The gangways were fixed at last, and there was a general movement. She
went with the crowd, Mercer's last words still running through her brain
with a reiteration that made them almost meaningless. On the other side
of the Customs house! Of course, of course she would find Robin there,
waiting for her!
She said it to herself over and over as she stepped ashore, and she
began to picture their meeting. And then, suddenly, an awful doubt
assailed her. She could not recall his features. His image would not
rise before her. The memory of his face had passed completely from her
mind. It had never done so before, and she was scared. But she strove to
reassure herself with the thought that she must surely recognize him the
moment her eyes beheld him. It was but a passing weakness this, born of
her agitation. Of course, she would know him, and he would know her,
too, mightily though she felt she had changed during those three years
that they had not met.
She moved on as one in a dream, still with that nightmare of oppression
at her heart. The crowd of hurrying strangers bewildered her. Her
loneliness appalled her. She had an insane longing to rush back to her
cabin and hide herself. But she pressed on, on into the Customs house,
following her little pile of luggage that looked so ludicrously
insignificant among all the rest.
The babel here was incessant. She felt as if her senses would leave her.
Piteously, like a lost child, she searched every face within her scope
of vision; but she searched in vain for the face of a friend.
Later, she found herself following an official out into an open space
like a great courtyard, that was crammed with vehicles. He was wheeling
her luggage on a trolley. Suddenly he faced round and asked her whither
she wanted to go.
She looked at him helplessly. "I am expecting someone to meet me," she
said.
He stared at her in some perplexity, and finally suggested that he
should set down her luggage and leave her to wait where she was.
To this she agreed, and when he had gone she seated herself on her cabin
trunk and faced the situation. She was utterly alone, with scarcely any
money in her possession, and no knowledge whatever of the place in which
she found herself. Robin would, of course, come sooner or later, but
till he came she was helpless.
What should she do, she wondered desperately? What could she do? All
about her, people were coming and going. She watched them dizzily. There
was not one of them who seemed to be alone. The heat and glare was
intense. The clatter of wheels sounded in her ears like the roar of
great waters. She felt as if she were sinking down, down through endless
turmoil into a void unspeakable.
How long she had sat there she could not have said. It seemed to her
hours when someone came up to her with a firm and purposeful stride,
and stooping, touched her shoulder. She looked up dazedly, and saw
Brett Mercer.
He said something to her, but it was as if he spoke in an unknown
language. She had not the faintest idea what he meant. His face swam
before her eyes. She shook her head at him vaguely, with quivering lips.
He stooped lower. She felt his arm encircle her, felt him draw her to
her feet. Again he seemed to be speaking, but his words eluded her. The
roar of the great waters filled her brain. Like a lost child she turned
and clung to the supporting arm.