Almayer'sFollyJosephConrad

Published:1895Categorie(s):FictionSource:http://www.gutenberg.org

AboutConrad:Joseph Conrad (born

Teodor Józef KonradKorzeniowski, 3 December1857–3August1924)wasaPolish-bornnovelist.Someofhisworks have been labelledromantic: Conrad's supposed"romanticism" is heavilyimbuedwith ironyanda finesense of man's capacity forself-deception. Many criticsregard Conrad as animportant forerunner of

Modernistliterature.Conrad'snarrativestyleandanti-heroiccharacters have influencedmany writers, includingErnest Hemingway, D.H.Lawrence, Graham Greene,Joseph Heller and JerzyKosiński,aswellasinspiringsuch films as ApocalypseNow(whichwasdrawnfromConrad'sHeart ofDarkness).Source:Wikipedia

AlsoavailableonFeedbooks

Conrad:

HeartofDarkness(1902)LordJim(1900)TheSecretAgent(1907)APersonalRecord(1912)Nostromo:ATaleoftheSeaboard(1904)TheNiggerofthe'Narcissus'(1897)TheDuel(1908)AnOutpostofProgress

(1896)TheLagoon(1897)TheInformer(1906)

Copyright:ThisworkisavailableforcountrieswherecopyrightisLife+70andintheUSA.

Note:ThisbookisbroughttoyoubyFeedbookshttp://www.feedbooks.comStrictlyforpersonaluse,donotusethisfilefor

commercialpurposes.

1Chapter

“Kaspar!Makan!”The well-known shrill

voice startled Almayer fromhis dream of splendid futureintotheunpleasantrealitiesofthe present hour. An

unpleasant voice too.Hehadheard it for many years, andwith every year he liked itless. No matter; there wouldbeanendtoallthissoon.He shuffled uneasily, but

took no further notice of thecall. Leaning with both hiselbows on the balustrade ofthe verandah, he went onlooking fixedly at the greatriver that flowed—indifferentandhurried—beforehiseyes.He liked to look at it about

the time of sunset; perhapsbecause at that time thesinking sun would spread aglowing gold tinge on thewaters of the Pantai, andAlmayer’s thoughts wereoftenbusywithgold;goldhehadfailed tosecure;gold theothers had secured—dishonestly, of course—orgold he meant to secure yet,through his own honestexertions, for himself andNina.Heabsorbedhimself in

his dream of wealth andpower away from this coastwhere he had dwelt for somany years, forgetting thebitternessof toil andstrife inthe vision of a great andsplendid reward.Theywouldlive in Europe, he and hisdaughter.Theywouldberichandrespected.Nobodywouldthink of her mixed blood inthe presence of her greatbeauty and of his immensewealth. Witnessing her

triumphs he would growyoungagain,hewouldforgetthe twenty-five years ofheart-breaking struggle onthiscoastwherehefeltlikeaprisoner. All this was nearlywithin his reach. Let onlyDainreturn!Andreturnsoonhemust—inhisowninterest,for his own share. He wasnow more than a week late!Perhaps he would return to-night. Such were Almayer’sthoughts as, standing on the

verandah of his new butalreadydecayinghouse—thatlast failure of his life—helooked on the broad river.Therewasnotingeofgoldonitthisevening,forithadbeenswollen by the rains, androlled an angry and muddyflood under his inattentiveeyes, carrying small drift-wood and big dead logs, andwhole uprooted trees withbranches and foliage,amongst which the water

swirledandroaredangrily.One of those drifting trees

grounded on the shelvingshore, just by the house, andAlmayer, neglecting hisdream, watched it withlanguid interest. The treeswungslowlyround,amidthehiss and foam of the water,and soon getting free of theobstruction began to movedown stream again, rollingslowly over, raising upwardsalong,denudedbranch,likea

hand lifted inmute appeal toheaven against the river’sbrutal and unnecessaryviolence. Almayer’s interestin the fate of that treeincreased rapidly. He leanedover to see if it would clearthe low point below. It did;then he drew back, thinkingthat now its course was freedown to the sea, and heenvied the lot of thatinanimate thingnowgrowingsmall and indistinct in the

deepening darkness. As helost sight of it altogether hebegan towonderhowfaroutto sea it would drift. Wouldthe current carry it north orsouth?South,probably, till itdriftedinsightofCelebes,asfarasMacassar,perhaps!Macassar! Almayer’s

quickenedfancydistancedthetreeon its imaginaryvoyage,but his memory laggingbehind some twenty years ormore in point of time saw a

youngandslimAlmayer,cladall in white and modest-looking, landing from theDutchmail-boaton thedustyjetty ofMacassar, coming towoo fortune in the godownsof old Hudig. It was animportant epoch in his life,the beginning of a newexistenceforhim.His father,a subordinate officialemployed in the BotanicalGardens of Buitenzorg, wasno doubt delighted to place

his son in such a firm. Theyoung man himself too wasnothing loth to leave thepoisonousshoresofJava,andthe meagre comforts of theparentalbungalow,wherethefathergrumbledalldayatthestupidity of native gardeners,and the mother from thedepthsofher longeasy-chairbewailed the lost glories ofAmsterdam, where she hadbeen brought up, and of herposition as the daughter of a

cigardealerthere.Almayerhad lefthishome

withalightheartandalighterpocket, speaking Englishwell,andstronginarithmetic;ready to conquer the world,neverdoubtingthathewould.After those twenty years,

standing in the close andstifling heat of a Borneanevening, he recalled withpleasurable regret the imageof Hudig’s lofty and coolwarehouses with their long

and straight avenues of gincases and bales ofManchester goods; the bigdoor swinging noiselessly;thedim lightof theplace, sodelightful after the glare ofthestreets;thelittlerailed-offspaces amongst piles ofmerchandise where theChinese clerks, neat, cool,and sad-eyed, wrote rapidlyand in silence amidst the dinof the working gangs rollingcasks or shifting cases to a

muttered song,endingwithadesperate yell. At the upperend, facing the great door,therewasalargerspacerailedoff, well lighted; there thenoise was subdued bydistance,andaboveitrosethesoft and continuous clink ofsilver guilders which otherdiscreet Chinamen werecounting andpilingupunderthesupervisionofMr.Vinck,the cashier, the geniuspresiding in the place—the

righthandoftheMaster.InthatclearspaceAlmayer

worked at his table not farfrom a little green painteddoor, bywhich always stooda Malay in a red sash andturban, and whose hand,holding a small stringdangling from above, movedup and down with theregularity of a machine. Thestring worked a punkah onthe other side of the greendoor, where the so-called

privateofficewas,andwhereold Hudig—the Master—satenthroned, holding noisyreceptions. Sometimes thelittle door would fly opendisclosing to theouterworld,through the bluish haze oftobacco smoke, a long tableloadedwithbottlesofvariousshapes and tall water-pitchers, rattan easy-chairsoccupied by noisy men insprawlingattitudes,while theMaster would put his head

through and, holding by thehandle, would gruntconfidentially to Vinck;perhaps send an orderthundering down thewarehouse,orspyahesitatingstrangerandgreethimwithafriendly roar, “Welgome,Gapitan! ver’ you gomevrom?Bali,eh?Gotbonies?Ivantbonies!Vantallyougot;ha! ha! ha! Gome in!” Thenthe stranger was dragged in,inatempestofyells,thedoor

wasshut,andtheusualnoisesrefilledtheplace;thesongofthe workmen, the rumble ofbarrels, the scratch of rapidpens;whileaboveallrosethemusicalchinkofbroadsilverpieces streaming ceaselesslythrough theyellowfingersoftheattentiveChinamen.At that timeMacassarwas

teeming with life andcommerce.Itwasthepointinthe islands where tended allthoseboldspiritswho,fitting

out schooners on theAustralian coast, invaded theMalay Archipelago in searchof money and adventure.Bold, reckless, keen inbusiness,notdisinclinedforabrush with the pirates thatwere to be found onmany acoast as yet, making moneyfast, they used to have ageneral “rendezvous” in thebayforpurposesoftradeanddissipation. The Dutchmerchants called those men

English pedlars; some ofthem were undoubtedlygentlemen for whom thatkindoflifehadacharm;mostwere seamen; theacknowledged king of themall was Tom Lingard, hewhom theMalays, honest ordishonest, quiet fishermen ordesperate cut-throats,recognised as “the Rajah-Laut”—theKingoftheSea.Almayer had heard of him

beforehehadbeenthreedays

in Macassar, had heard thestories of his smart businesstransactions, his loves, andalso of his desperate fightswiththeSulupirates,togetherwith the romantic tale ofsomechild—agirl—found ina piratical prau by thevictorious Lingard, when,after a long contest, heboarded thecraft,driving thecrew overboard. This girl, itwas generally known,Lingard had adopted, was

having her educated in someconventinJava,andspokeofheras“mydaughter.”Hehadswornamightyoathtomarryher toawhitemanbeforehewent home and to leave herall hismoney. “And CaptainLingard has lots of money,”would say Mr. Vincksolemnly, with his head onone side, “lots of money;more thanHudig!”Andaftera pause—just to let hishearers recover from their

astonishment at such anincredible assertion—hewould add in an explanatorywhisper, “You know, he hasdiscoveredariver.”That was it! He had

discovered a river! That wasthe fact placing old Lingardso much above the commoncrowd of sea-goingadventurers who traded withHudig in the daytime anddrank champagne, gambled,sang noisy songs, and made

love to half-caste girls underthe broad verandah of theSunda Hotel at night. Intothat river, whose entranceshimself only knew, Lingardused to take his assortedcargo of Manchester goods,brass gongs, rifles andgunpowder. His brig Flash,which he commandedhimself, would on thoseoccasions disappear quietlyduring the night from theroadstead while his

companionsweresleepingoffthe effects of the midnightcarouse,Lingardseeing themdrunk under the table beforegoing on board, himselfunaffected by any amount ofliquor. Many tried to followhim and find that land ofplenty for gutta-percha andrattans,pearlshellsandbirds’nests,waxandgum-dammar,but the little Flash couldoutsail every craft in thoseseas.A fewof themcame to

grief on hidden sandbanksand coral reefs, losing theirall and barely escaping withlifefromthecruelgripofthissunnyandsmilingsea;othersgot discouraged; and formany years the green andpeaceful-looking islandsguarding the entrances to thepromised land kept theirsecret with all the mercilessserenity of tropical nature.And so Lingard came andwent on his secret or open

expeditions,becomingaheroin Almayer’s eyes by theboldness and enormousprofits of his ventures,seeming to Almayer a verygreat man indeed as he sawhim marching up thewarehouse, grunting a “howare you?” to Vinck, orgreeting Hudig, the Master,with a boisterous “Hallo, oldpirate! Alive yet?” as apreliminary to transactingbusiness behind the little

green door. Often of anevening, in the silenceof thethen deserted warehouse,Almayer putting away hispapers before driving homewith Mr. Vinck, in whosehousehold he lived, wouldpauselisteningtothenoiseofahotdiscussionintheprivateoffice, would hear the deepandmonotonousgrowloftheMaster, and the roared-outinterruptions of Lingard—two mastiffs fighting over a

marrowy bone. But toAlmayer’s ears it soundedlike a quarrel of Titans—abattleofthegods.AfterayearorsoLingard,

having been brought often incontact with Almayer in thecourse of business, took asuddenand,totheonlookers,a rather inexplicable fancy tothe young man. He sang hispraises, late at night, over aconvivial glass to his croniesin the Sunda Hotel, and one

fine morning electrifiedVinck by declaring that hemusthave“thatyoungfellowfor a supercargo. Kind ofcaptain’s clerk. Do all myquill-driving for me.” Hudigconsented. Almayer, withyouth’s natural craving forchange,wasnothingloth,andpacking his few belongings,startedintheFlashononeofthose long cruises when theoldseamanwaswont tovisitalmost every island in the

archipelago. Months slippedby, and Lingard’s friendshipseemed to increase. Oftenpacing the deck withAlmayer,whenthefaintnightbreeze, heavy with aromaticexhalations of the islands,shoved the brig gently alongunder the peaceful andsparkling sky, did the oldseaman open his heart to hisentranced listener. He spokeof his past life, of escapeddangers, of big profits in his

trade, of new combinationsthat were in the future tobring profits bigger still.Often he had mentioned hisdaughter,thegirlfoundinthepirate prau, speaking of herwith a strange assumption offatherly tenderness. “Shemust be a big girl now,” heused to say. “It’s nigh untofour years since I have seenher! Damme, Almayer, if Idon’t think we will run intoSourabaya this trip.” And

after such a declaration healways dived into his cabinmuttering to himself,“Something must be done—must be done.” More thanonce he would astonishAlmayer by walking up tohim rapidly, clearing histhroat with a powerful“Hem!”asifhewasgoingtosay something, and thenturningabruptlyawaytoleanover the bulwarks in silence,and watch, motionless, for

hours, the gleam and sparkleof the phosphorescent seaalong the ship’s side. It wasthe night before arriving inSourabayawhenoneofthoseattempts at confidentialcommunication succeeded.After clearing his throat hespoke. He spoke to somepurpose.HewantedAlmayerto marry his adopteddaughter. “And don’t youkick because you’re white!”he shouted, suddenly, not

giving the surprised youngman the time to say a word.“None of that with me!Nobodywillseethecolourofyourwife’s skin. The dollarsare too thick for that, I tellyou!Andmindyou,theywillbe thicker yet before I die.There will be millions,Kaspar! Millions I say! Andall for her—and for you, ifyoudowhatyouaretold.”Startled by the unexpected

proposal, Almayer hesitated,

and remained silent for aminute.Hewasgiftedwithastrong and activeimagination,andinthatshortspaceof timehesaw,as inaflash of dazzling light, greatpiles of shiningguilders, andrealisedallthepossibilitiesofan opulent existence. Theconsideration, the indolenteaseoflife—forwhichhefelthimself so well fitted—hisships, his warehouses, hismerchandise (old Lingard

wouldnotliveforever),and,crowningall,inthefarfuturegleamed like a fairy palacethe big mansion inAmsterdam, that earthlyparadise of his dreams,where, made king amongstmenbyoldLingard’smoney,hewouldpasstheeveningofhis days in inexpressiblesplendour. As to the otherside of the picture—thecompanionship for life of aMalay girl, that legacy of a

boatful of pirates—therewasonly within him a confusedconsciousness of shame thathe a white man—Still, aconvent education of fouryears!—and then she maymercifully die. He wasalways lucky, and money ispowerful!Gothroughit.Whynot?He had a vague idea ofshutting her up somewhere,anywhere,outofhisgorgeousfuture. Easy enough todisposeofaMalaywoman,a

slave,afterall, tohisEasternmind,conventornoconvent,ceremonyornoceremony.He lifted his head and

confronted the anxious yetirateseaman.“I—of course—anything

youwish,CaptainLingard.”“Call me father, my boy.

She does,” said themollifiedold adventurer. “Damme,though, if I didn’t think youwere going to refuse. Mindyou,Kaspar,Ialwaysgetmy

way, so it would have beennouse.Butyouarenofool.”He remembered well that

time—the look, the accent,the words, the effect theyproduced on him, his verysurroundings. Heremembered the narrowslanting deck of the brig, thesilent sleeping coast, thesmooth black surface of thesea with a great bar of goldlaidonitbytherisingmoon.Heremembereditall,andhe

remembered his feelings ofmadexultationat thethoughtofthatfortunethrownintohishands. He was no fool then,and he was no fool now.Circumstances had beenagainst him; the fortune wasgone,buthoperemained.He shivered in the night

air, and suddenly becameawareoftheintensedarknesswhich,onthesun’sdeparture,had closed in upon the river,blottingouttheoutlinesofthe

opposite shore. Only the fireofdrybrancheslitoutsidethestockade of the Rajah’scompound called fitfully intoviewtheraggedtrunksofthesurrounding trees, putting astainofglowingredhalf-wayacross the river where thedrifting logs were hurryingtowards the sea through theimpenetrablegloom.Hehadahazy recollection of havingbeencalledsometimeduringthe evening by his wife. To

his dinner probably. But aman busy contemplating thewreckage of his past in thedawnofnewhopescannotbehungry whenever his rice isready. Time he went home,though;itwasgettinglate.He stepped cautiously on

the loose planks towards theladder.Alizard,disturbedbythe noise, emitted a plaintivenoteandscurriedthroughthelong grass growing on thebank.Almayerdescendedthe

ladder carefully, nowthoroughly recalled to therealities of life by the carenecessarytopreventafallontheunevengroundwhere thestones, decaying planks, andhalf-sawn beams were piledup in inextricable confusion.As he turned towards thehouse where he lived—“myold house” he called it—hisear detected the splash ofpaddlesaway in thedarknessof the river.He stood still in

the path, attentive andsurprisedatanybodybeingonthe river at this late hourduring such a heavy freshet.Now he could hear thepaddlesdistinctly,andevenarapidly exchanged word inlow tones, the heavybreathing of men fightingwiththecurrent,andhuggingthe bank on which he stood.Quite close, too, but it wastoo dark to distinguishanything under the

overhangingbushes.“Arabs, no doubt,”

mutteredAlmayertohimself,peering into the solidblackness.“Whatare theyupto now? Some of Abdulla’sbusiness;cursehim!”The boat was very close

now.“Oh, ya! Man!” hailed

Almayer.The sound of voices

ceased, but the paddlesworkedasfuriouslyasbefore.

Then the bush in front ofAlmayershook,andthesharpsound of the paddles fallinginto the canoe rang in thequiet night. They wereholding on to the bush now;but Almayer could hardlymake out an indistinct darkshape of a man’s head andshouldersabovethebank.“You Abdulla?” said

Almayer,doubtfully.Agravevoiceanswered—“TuanAlmayerisspeaking

to a friend.There isnoArabhere.”Almayer’s heart gave a

greatleap.“Dain!” he exclaimed. “At

last! at last! I have beenwaitingforyoueverydayandevery night. I had nearlygivenyouup.”“Nothing could have

stopped me from comingback here,” said the other,almost violently. “Not evendeath,” he whispered to

himself.“Thisisafriend’stalk,and

is very good,” saidAlmayer,heartily.“Butyouare too farhere. Drop down to the jettyand let your men cook theirriceinmycampongwhilewetalkinthehouse.”There was no answer to

thatinvitation.“What is it?” asked

Almayer, uneasily. “There isnothingwrongwiththebrig,Ihope?”

“The brig is where noOrang Blanda can lay hishands on her,” said Dain,with a gloomy tone in hisvoice,whichAlmayer, in hiselation,failedtonotice.“Right,” he said. “But

where are all your men?Thereareonlytwowithyou.”“Listen, Tuan Almayer,”

saidDain. “To-morrow’s sunshall see me in your house,and thenwewill talk.NowImustgototheRajah.”

“TotheRajah!Why?WhatdoyouwantwithLakamba?”“Tuan, to-morrow we talk

like friends. I must seeLakambato-night.”“Dain,youarenotgoingto

abandonmenow,whenallisready?” asked Almayer, in apleadingvoice.“HaveInotreturned?ButI

must see Lakamba first foryourgoodandmine.”The shadowy head

disappeared abruptly. The

bush,releasedfromthegraspof the bowman, sprung backwith a swish, scattering ashower ofmuddywater overAlmayer,ashebent forward,tryingtosee.In a little while the canoe

shot into the streak of lightthat streamed on the riverfrom the big fire on theoppositeshore,disclosingtheoutlineoftwomenbendingtotheirwork,anda third figurein the stern flourishing the

steering paddle, his headcovered with an enormousroundhat, likea fantasticallyexaggeratedmushroom.Almayer watched the

canoe till itpassedoutof thelineoflight.Shortlyafterthemurmur of many voicesreachedhimacrossthewater.He could see the torchesbeing snatched out of theburning pile, and renderingvisibleforamomentthegatein the stockade round which

they crowded. Then theywent in apparently. Thetorches disappeared, and thescattered fire sent out only adimandfitfulglare.Almayer stepped

homewards with long stridesandminduneasy.SurelyDainwas not thinking of playinghimfalse.Itwasabsurd.Dainand Lakamba were both toomuch interested in thesuccess of his scheme.Trusting toMalayswas poor

work; but then even Malayshave some sense andunderstandtheirowninterest.All would be well—must bewell. At this point in hismeditation he found himselfatthefootofthestepsleadingto the verandah of his home.From the low point of landwhere he stood he could seeboth branches of the river.ThemainbranchofthePantaiwas lost in completedarkness, for the fire at the

Rajah’s had gone outaltogether;butup theSambirreachhiseyecouldfollowthelong line of Malay housescrowding thebank,withhereand there a dim lighttwinkling through bamboowalls, or a smoky torchburningontheplatformsbuiltout over the river. Furtheraway,wheretheislandendedin a low cliff, rose a darkmass of buildings toweringabove the Malay structures.

Founded solidly on a firmgroundwith plenty of space,starred by many lightsburning strong and white,with a suggestion of paraffinand lamp-glasses, stood thehouse and the godowns ofAbdulla bin Selim, the greattraderofSambir.ToAlmayerthesightwasverydistasteful,andheshookhisfist towardsthe buildings that in theirevident prosperity looked tohim cold and insolent, and

contemptuous of his ownfallenfortunes.He mounted the steps of

hishouseslowly.In the middle of the

verandah there was a roundtable. On it a paraffin lampwithout a globe shed a hardglareonthethreeinnersides.Thefourthsidewasopen,andfaced the river. Between therough supports of the high-pitched roof hung torn rattanscreens.Therewasnoceiling,

andtheharshbrillianceofthelampwas toned above into asoft half-light that lost itselfin the obscurity amongst therafters.Thefrontwallwascutin two by the doorway of acentral passage closed by ared curtain. The women’sroom opened into thatpassage, which led to theback courtyard and to thecooking shed. In one of theside walls there was adoorway. Half obliterated

words—“Office:Lingard andCo.”—were still legible onthedustydoor,which lookedas if it had not been openedforaverylongtime.Closetothe other side wall stood abent-woodrocking-chair,andby the table and about theverandah four woodenarmchairsstraggledforlornly,asifashamedoftheirshabbysurroundings. A heap ofcommon mats lay in onecorner,withanoldhammock

slungdiagonallyabove.Intheother corner, his headwrapped in a piece of redcalico, huddled into ashapelessheap,sleptaMalay,one of Almayer’s domesticslaves—“myownpeople,”heused to call them. Anumerous and representativeassembly of moths wereholdinghighrevelsroundthelamp to the spiritedmusicofswarming mosquitoes. Underthe palm-leaf thatch lizards

raced on the beams callingsoftly.Amonkey,chained toone of the verandah supports—retired for the night underthe eaves—peered andgrinned at Almayer, as itswung to one of the bambooroof sticks and caused ashower of dust and bits ofdried leaves to settle on theshabby table. The floor wasuneven, with many witheredplants and dried earthscatteredabout.Ageneralair

of squalid neglect pervadedtheplace.Greatredstainsonthefloorandwallstestifiedtofrequent and indiscriminatebetel-nut chewing. The lightbreezefromtheriverswayedgently the tattered blinds,sending from the woodsopposite a faint and sicklyperfume as of decayingflowers.Under Almayer’s heavy

tread the boards of theverandahcreakedloudly.The

sleeper in the corner moveduneasily, muttering indistinctwords. There was a slightrustle behind the curtaineddoorway, and a soft voiceasked in Malay, “Is it you,father?”“Yes,Nina.Iamhungry.Is

everybody asleep in thishouse?”Almayerspokejoviallyand

droppedwithacontentedsighinto the armchair nearest tothetable.NinaAlmayercame

through the curtaineddoorway followed by an oldMalay woman, who busiedherself in setting upon thetable a plateful of rice andfish, a jar of water, and abottle half full of genever.Aftercarefullyplacingbeforeher master a cracked glasstumbler and a tin spoon shewent away noiselessly. Ninastood by the table, one handlightlyrestingonitsedge,theotherhanginglistlesslybyher

side.Herfaceturnedtowardsthe outer darkness, throughwhich her dreamy eyesseemed to see someentrancing picture, wore alookofimpatientexpectancy.Shewas tall for a half-caste,withthecorrectprofileofthefather, modified andstrengthened by thesquareness of the lower partofthefaceinheritedfromhermaternal ancestors—the Sulupirates.Herfirmmouth,with

the lips slightly parted anddisclosing a gleam of whiteteeth, put a vague suggestionof ferocity into the impatientexpression of her features.Andyetherdark andperfecteyes had all the tendersoftness of expressioncommon to Malay women,but with a gleam of superiorintelligence; they lookedgravely, wide open andsteady,asiffacingsomethinginvisible to all other eyes,

while she stood there all inwhite, straight, flexible,graceful, unconscious ofherself, her low but broadforehead crowned with ashining mass of long blackhair that fell inheavy tressesoverhershoulders,andmadeher pale olive complexionlookpalerstillbythecontrastofitscoal-blackhue.Almayer attacked his rice

greedily, but after a fewmouthfuls he paused, spoon

in hand, and looked at hisdaughtercuriously.“Did you hear a boat pass

abouthalfanhouragoNina?”heasked.The girl gave him a quick

glance, and moving awayfrom the light stoodwithherbacktothetable.“No,”shesaid,slowly.“Therewasaboat.Atlast!

Dainhimself;andhewentontoLakamba.Iknowit,forhetold me so. I spoke to him,

but he would not come hereto-night. Will come to-morrow,hesaid.”He swallowed another

spoonful,thensaid—“I am almost happy to-

night,Nina.Icanseetheendofalongroad,anditleadsusaway from this miserableswamp. We shall soon getaway from here, I and you,my dear little girl, and then—”Herosefromthetableand

stood looking fixedly beforehimasifcontemplatingsomeenchantingvision.“And then,” he went on,

“we shall be happy, you andI.Live richand respected farfromhere,andforgetthislife,and all this struggle, and allthismisery!”He approached his

daughterandpassedhishandcaressinglyoverherhair.“Itisbadtohavetotrusta

Malay,” he said, “but Imust

ownthatthisDainisaperfectgentleman—a perfectgentleman,”herepeated.“Didyouaskhim tocome

here, father?” inquired Nina,notlookingathim.“Well,of course.Weshall

start on the day after to-morrow,” said Almayer,joyously. “Wemust not loseany time.Areyouglad, littlegirl?”She was nearly as tall as

himself,buthelikedtorecall

the time when she was littleand they were all in all toeachother.“Iamglad,”shesaid,very

low.“Ofcourse,”saidAlmayer,

vivaciously, “you cannotimaginewhatisbeforeyou.Imyself have not been toEurope, but I have heardmymother talk so often that Iseemtoknowallaboutit.Weshall live a—a glorious life.Youshallsee.”

Again he stood silent byhisdaughter’ssidelookingatthat enchanting vision. Afterawhileheshookhisclenchedhand towards the sleepingsettlement.“Ah! my friend Abdulla,”

he cried, “we shall see whowill have the best of it afteralltheseyears!”Helookeduptheriverand

remarkedcalmly:“Another thunderstorm.

Well! No thunder will keep

me awake to-night, I know!Good-night, little girl,” hewhispered, tenderly kissinghercheek.“Youdonotseemtobeveryhappyto-night,butto-morrow you will show abrighterface.Eh?”Nina had listened to her

fatherwithherfaceunmoved,withherhalf-closedeyesstillgazing into the night nowmade more intense by aheavy thunder-cloud that hadcrept down from the hills

blottingoutthestars,mergingsky,forest,andriverintoonemass of almost palpableblackness. The faint breezehad died out, but the distantrumble of thunder and paleflashes of lightning gavewarning of the approachingstorm. With a sigh the girlturnedtowardsthetable.Almayer was in his

hammock now, already halfasleep.“Take the lamp,Nina,” he

muttered, drowsily. “Thisplace is full of mosquitoes.Gotosleep,daughter.”ButNina put the lampout

and turned back againtowards the balustrade of theverandah, standing with herarm round the woodensupport and looking eagerlytowardsthePantaireach.Andmotionless there in theoppressive calm of thetropicalnightshecouldseeateach flash of lightning the

forest lining both banks upthe river, bending before thefurious blast of the comingtempest, the upper reach ofthe river whipped into whitefoam by the wind, and theblack clouds torn intofantastic shapes trailing lowover the swaying trees.Round her all was as yetstillness and peace, but shecouldhearafarofftheroarofthe wind, the hiss of heavyrain, the wash of the waves

on the tormented river. Itcamenearer andnearer,withloud thunder-claps and longflashes of vivid lightning,followed by short periods ofappalling blackness. Whenthe storm reached the lowpoint dividing the river, thehouseshookinthewind,andtherainpatteredloudlyonthepalm-leaf roof, the thunderspoke in one prolonged roll,and the incessant lightningdisclosedaturmoilofleaping

waters, driving logs, and thebig trees bending before abrutalandmercilessforce.Undisturbedby thenightly

event of the rainy monsoon,the father slept quietly,oblivious alike of his hopes,his misfortunes, his friends,and his enemies; and thedaughter stoodmotionless, ateach flash of lightningeagerly scanning the broadriver with a steady andanxiousgaze.

2Chapter

When, in compliance withLingard’s abrupt demand,Almayer consented to wedtheMalay girl, no one knewthat on the day when theinterestingyoungconverthad

lost all her natural relationsandfoundawhitefather,shehadbeenfightingdesperatelyliketherestofthemonboardthe prau, and was onlyprevented from leapingoverboard, like the fewothersurvivors,byaseverewoundintheleg.There,onthefore-deckoftheprau,oldLingardfound her under a heap ofdead and dying pirates, andhadhercarriedonthepoopofthe Flash before the Malay

craftwasseton fireandsentadrift. She was conscious,and in the great peace andstillness of the tropicalevening succeeding theturmoil of the battle, shewatched all she held dear onearth after her own savagemanner, drift away into thegloominagreatroarofflameand smoke. She lay thereunheeding the careful handsattendingtoherwound,silentandabsorbedingazingatthe

funeral pile of those bravemen she had so muchadmiredandsowellhelpedintheir contest with theredoubtable“Rajah-Laut.”The light night breeze

fanned the brig gently to thesouthward, and the greatblazeoflightgotsmallerandsmaller till it twinkled onlyon the horizon like a settingstar. It set: the heavy canopyof smoke reflected the glare

of hidden flames for a shorttime and then disappearedalso.She realised that with this

vanishing gleam her old lifedeparted too. Thenceforththere was slavery in the farcountries, amongst strangers,in unknown and perhapsterrible surroundings. Beingfourteen years old, sherealised her position andcame to that conclusion, theonlyonepossible toaMalay

girl, soon ripened under atropicalsun,andnotunawareof her personal charms, ofwhich she heard many ayoung brave warrior of herfather’s crew express anappreciative admiration.Therewasinherthedreadofthe unknown; otherwise sheacceptedherpositioncalmly,after the manner of herpeople, and even consideredit quite natural; for was shenot a daughter of warriors,

conquered in battle, and didshe not belong rightfully tothe victorious Rajah? Eventhe evident kindness of theterrible oldmanmust spring,she thought, from admirationfor his captive, and theflattered vanity eased for herthepangsofsorrowaftersuchan awful calamity. Perhapshad she known of the highwalls, the quiet gardens, andthe silent nuns of theSamarangconvent,whereher

destiny was leading her, shewould have sought death inher dread and hate of such arestraint. But in imaginationshe pictured to herself theusual life of a Malay girl—theusualsuccessionofheavywork and fierce love, ofintrigues, gold ornaments, ofdomestic drudgery, and ofthatgreatbutoccultinfluencewhichisoneofthefewrightsof half-savage womankind.But her destiny in the rough

hands of the old sea-dog,acting under unreasoningimpulses of the heart, took astrange and to her a terribleshape. She bore it all—therestraintandtheteachingandthe new faith—with calmsubmission, concealing herhateandcontemptforallthatnew life. She learned thelanguage very easily, yetunderstood but little of thenew faith the good sisterstaught her, assimilating

quicklyonly thesuperstitiouselements of the religion. Shecalled Lingard father, gentlyandcaressingly,ateachofhisshort and noisy visits, underthe clear impression that hewas a great and dangerouspower it was good topropitiate. Was he not nowhermaster?Andduringthoselongfouryearsshenourisheda hope of finding favour inhis eyes and ultimatelybecoming his wife,

counsellor,andguide.Thosedreamsofthefuture

were dispelled by the RajahLaut’s “fiat,” which madeAlmayer’s fortune, as thatyoung man fondly hoped.And dressed in the hatefulfinery of Europe, the centreof an interested circle ofBatavian society, the youngconvertstoodbeforethealtarwith an unknown and sulky-looking white man. ForAlmayer was uneasy, a little

disgusted, and greatlyinclined to run away. Ajudicious fear of the adoptedfather-in-law and a justregard for his own materialwelfare prevented him frommaking a scandal; yet, whileswearing fidelity, he wasconcocting plans for gettingridoftheprettyMalaygirlinamore or less distant future.She, however, had retainedenough of conventualteaching to understand well

thataccordingtowhitemen’slaws she was going to beAlmayer’s companion andnothisslave,andpromisedtoherselftoactaccordingly.So when the Flash

freighted with materials forbuildinganewhouse left theharbour of Batavia, takingaway the young couple intotheunknownBorneo,shedidnot carry on her deck somuch love and happiness asold Lingard was wont to

boast of before his casualfriends in the verandahs ofvarious hotels. The oldseamanhimselfwasperfectlyhappy.Nowhe had done hisdutybythegirl.“YouknowImade her an orphan,” heoften concluded solemnly,when talking about his ownaffairs to a scratch audienceofshoreloafers—asitwashishabit to do. And theapprobative shouts of hishalf-intoxicated auditors

filled his simple soul withdelight and pride. “I carryeverything right through,”was another of his sayings,and in pursuance of thatprinciple he pushed thebuilding of house andgodowns on the PantaiRiverwith feverish haste. Thehouse for the young couple;thegodownsforthebigtradeAlmayer was going todevelop while he (Lingard)wouldbeabletogivehimself

up to some mysterious workwhichwasonly spokenof inhints, but was understood torelate to gold and diamondsin the interior of the island.Almayer was impatient too.Had he known what wasbeforehimhemightnothavebeensoeagerandfullofhopeashe stoodwatching the lastcanoe of the Lingardexpedition disappear in thebend up the river. When,turning round, he beheld the

pretty little house, the biggodowns built neatly by anarmy of Chinese carpenters,the new jetty round whichwere clustered the tradingcanoes, he felt a suddenelationinthethoughtthattheworldwashis.But the world had to be

conquered first, and itsconquest was not so easy ashethought.Hewasverysoonmade to understand that hewasnotwantedinthatcorner

of it where old Lingard andhis own weak will placedhim, in the midst ofunscrupulousintriguesandofa fierce trade competition.TheArabshad foundout theriver, had established atrading post in Sambir, andwheretheytradedtheywouldbe masters and suffer norival. Lingard returnedunsuccessful from his firstexpedition, and departedagain spendingall theprofits

of the legitimate tradeonhismysteriousjourneys.Almayerstruggledwith thedifficultiesofhisposition,friendlessandunaided, save for theprotection given to him forLingard’s sake by the oldRajah, the predecessor ofLakamba. Lakamba himself,then living as a privateindividual on a rice clearing,seven miles down the river,exercised all his influencetowardsthehelpof thewhite

man’s enemies, plottingagainst the old Rajah andAlmayer with a certainty ofcombination, pointing clearlyto a profound knowledge oftheir most secret affairs.Outwardlyfriendly,hisportlyformwasoftentobeseenonAlmayer’s verandah; hisgreen turban and gold-embroidered jacket shone inthefrontrankofthedecorousthrong of Malays coming togreet Lingard on his returns

fromtheinterior;hissalaamswere of the lowest, and hishand-shakings of theheartiest, when welcomingthe old trader. But his smalleyes took in the signs of thetimes, and he departed fromthose interviews with asatisfied and furtive smile tohold long consultations withhis friend and ally, SyedAbdulla,thechiefoftheArabtrading post, a man of greatwealthandofgreat influence

intheislands.Itwascurrentlybelievedat

that time in the settlementthat Lakamba’s visits toAlmayer’s house were notlimited to those officialinterviews. Often onmoonlight nights the belatedfishermen of Sambira saw asmall canoe shooting outfrom the narrow creek at theback of the white man’shouse, and the solitaryoccupant paddle cautiously

down the river in the deepshadows of the bank; andthose events, duly reported,were discussed round theevening fires far into thenight with the cynicism ofexpression common toaristocraticMalays, andwitha malicious pleasure in thedomestic misfortunes of theOrang Blando—the hatedDutchman.Almayerwent onstruggling desperately, butwith a feebleness of purpose

deprivinghimofallchanceofsuccess against men sounscrupulous and resolute ashisrivalstheArabs.Thetradefell away from the largegodowns, and the godownsthemselves rotted piecemeal.Theoldman’sbanker,HudigofMacassar, failed, andwiththiswent thewholeavailablecapital. The profits of pastyearshadbeenswallowedupin Lingard’s exploring craze.Lingardwas in the interior—

perhaps dead—at all eventsgiving no sign of life.Almayer stood alone in themidst of those adversecircumstances, deriving onlya little comfort from thecompanionship of his littledaughter,borntwoyearsafterthemarriage, and at the timesome six years old.Hiswifehadsooncommencedtotreathim with a savage contemptexpressed by sulky silence,onlyoccasionallyvariedbya

floodofsavageinvective.Hefelt she hated him, and sawher jealous eyes watchinghimself and the child withalmostanexpressionofhate.She was jealous of the littlegirl’s evident preference forthe father, and Almayer felthe was not safe with thatwoman in the house. Whileshewasburningthefurniture,and tearing down the prettycurtains in her unreasoninghate of those signs of

civilisation, Almayer, cowedby these outbursts of savagenature, meditated in silenceonthebestwayofgettingridof her. He thought ofeverything; even plannedmurder in an undecided andfeeble sort ofway, but dareddo nothing—expecting everydaythereturnofLingardwithnewsof some immensegoodfortune. He returned indeed,but aged, ill, a ghost of hisformer self, with the fire of

fever burning in his sunkeneyes,almosttheonlysurvivorof the numerous expedition.Buthewassuccessfulatlast!Untold riches were in hisgrasp;hewantedmoremoney—only a littlemore torealisea dream of fabulous fortune.And Hudig had failed!Almayerscrapedallhecouldtogether, but the old manwanted more. If Almayercould not get it hewould goto Singapore—to Europe

even, but before all toSingapore;andhewouldtakethe littleNinawith him.Thechild must be brought updecently.HehadgoodfriendsinSingaporewhowouldtakecare of her and have hertaughtproperly.Allwouldbewell, and that girl, uponwhomtheoldseamanseemedto have transferred all hisformer affection for themother, would be the richestwoman in the East—in the

world even. So old Lingardshouted, pacing the verandahwith his heavy quarter-deckstep, gesticulating with asmouldering cheroot; ragged,dishevelled, enthusiastic; andAlmayer, sitting huddled upon a pile of mats, thoughtwith dread of the separationwiththeonlyhumanbeingheloved—with greater dreadstill, perhaps, of the scenewith his wife, the savagetigressdeprivedofheryoung.

She will poison me, thoughtthe poor wretch, well awareofthateasyandfinalmannerof solving the social,political, or family problemsinMalaylife.To his great surprise she

took the news very quietly,giving only him and Lingarda furtive glance, and sayingnot a word. This, however,did not prevent her the nextday from jumping into theriverand swimmingafter the

boat in which Lingard wascarryingaway thenursewiththescreamingchild.Almayerhad to give chase with hiswhale-boatanddragherinbythe hair in themidst of criesand curses enough to makeheaven fall. Yet after twodays spent in wailing, shereturned to her former modeoflife,chewingbetel-nut,andsitting all day amongst herwomen in stupefied idleness.She aged very rapidly after

that, and only roused herselffrom her apathy toacknowledge by a scathingremark or an insultingexclamation the accidentalpresence of her husband. Hehad built for her a riversidehut in the compound whereshedweltinperfectseclusion.Lakamba’s visits had ceasedwhen,byaconvenientdecreeofProvidenceandthehelpofa little scientificmanipulation, theoldrulerof

Sambir departed this life.Lakambareignedinhissteadnow,havingbeenwellservedby his Arab friends with theDutch authorities. SyedAbdulla was the great manand trader of the Pantai.Almayer lay ruined andhelpless under the close-meshednetof their intrigues,owing his life only to hissupposed knowledge ofLingard’s valuable secret.Lingard had disappeared. He

wrote once from Singaporesayingthechildwaswell,andunder the care of a Mrs.Vinck, and that he himselfwas going toEurope to raisemoney for the greatenterprise. “He was comingbacksoon.Therewouldbenodifficulties,” he wrote;“people would rush in withtheirmoney.” Evidently theydid not, for there was onlyone letter more from himsaying he was ill, had found

no relation living, but littleelse besides. Then came acompletesilence.Europehadswallowedup theRajahLautapparently, and Almayerlookedvainlywestwardforarayof light out of thegloomof his shattered hopes.Yearspassed, and the rare lettersfrom Mrs. Vinck, later onfromthegirlherself,weretheonly thing to be looked to tomake life bearable amongstthe triumphant savagery of

the river.Almayer livednowalone, having even ceased tovisit his debtors who wouldnot pay, sure of Lakamba’sprotection. The faithfulSumatreseAlicookedhisriceand made his coffee, for hedared not trust any one else,and least of all his wife. Hekilled time wandering sadlyintheovergrownpathsroundthehouse, visiting the ruinedgodowns where a few brassguns covered with verdigris

and only a few broken casesof mouldering Manchestergoods reminded him of thegoodearlytimeswhenallthiswas full of life andmerchandise, and heoverlooked a busy scene onthe river bank, his littledaughterbyhisside.Nowtheup-countrycanoesglidedpastthe little rotten wharf ofLingardandCo.,topaddleupthePantaibranch,andclusterroundthenewjettybelonging

to Abdulla. Not that theylovedAbdulla,buttheydarednottradewiththemanwhosestarhadset.Hadtheydonesothey knew there was nomercy to be expected fromArab or Rajah; no rice to begot on credit in the times ofscarcity from either; andAlmayercouldnothelpthem,having at times hardlyenoughforhimself.Almayer,in his isolation and despair,often envied his near

neighbour the Chinaman,Jim-Eng,whomhe could seestretched on a pile of coolmats, awoodenpillowunderhishead,anopiumpipeinhisnerveless fingers.He did notseek,however,consolationinopium—perhaps it was tooexpensive—perhapshiswhiteman’s pride saved him fromthat degradation; but mostlikely it was the thought ofhis little daughter in the far-off Straits Settlements. He

heard from her oftener sinceAbdulla bought a steamer,which ran now betweenSingapore and the Pantaisettlementeverythreemonthsor so. Almayer felt himselfnearer his daughter. Helonged to see her, andplanned a voyage toSingapore, but put off hisdeparture from year to year,always expecting somefavourableturnoffortune.Hedidnotwanttomeetherwith

empty hands and with nowordsofhopeonhislips.Hecould not take her back intothat savage life to which hewas condemned himself. Hewasalsoalittleafraidofher.What would she think ofhim?He reckoned the years.Agrownwoman.A civilisedwoman, young and hopeful;while he felt old andhopeless, andverymuch likethose savages round him.Heaskedhimselfwhatwasgoing

tobeherfuture.Hecouldnotanswer thatquestionyet, andhedarednotfaceher.Andyethe longed after her. Hehesitatedforyears.His hesitation was put an

end to by Nina’s unexpectedappearance in Sambir. Shearrived in the steamer underthe captain’s care. Almayerbeheld her with surprise notunmixed with wonder.During those ten years thechild had changed into a

woman, black-haired, olive-skinned, tall, and beautiful,withgreatsadeyes,wherethestartled expression commonto Malay womankind wasmodified by a thoughtfultinge inherited from herEuropean ancestry. Almayerthought with dismay of themeeting of his wife anddaughter, of what this gravegirl in European clotheswould think of her betel-nutchewingmother, squatting in

a dark hut, disorderly, halfnaked, and sulky. He alsofeared an outbreak of temperon the part of that pest of awoman he had hithertomanaged to keep tolerablyquiet, thereby saving theremnants of his dilapidatedfurniture.Andhe stood therebefore the closeddoorof thehut in the blazing sunshinelistening to the murmur ofvoices,wonderingwhatwenton inside, wherefrom all the

servant-maids had beenexpelled at the beginning ofthe interview, andnow stoodclustered by the palingswithhalf-coveredfacesinachatterof curious speculation. Heforgothimself there trying tocatch a stray word throughthe bamboo walls, till thecaptain of the steamer, whohad walked up with the girl,fearingasunstroke, tookhimunder the arm and led himinto the shade of his own

verandah:whereNina’strunkstood already, having beenlandedby thesteamer’smen.AssoonasCaptainFordhadhis glass before him and hischeroot lighted, Almayerasked for the explanation ofhis daughter’s unexpectedarrival. Ford said littlebeyondgeneralising invaguebut violent terms upon thefoolishness of women ingeneral,andofMrs.Vinckinparticular.

“You know, Kaspar,” saidhe, in conclusion, to theexcited Almayer, “it isdeucedly awkward to have ahalf-caste girl in the house.There’s such a lot of foolsabout. There was that youngfellow from the bank whoused to ride to the Vinckbungalowearlyandlate.ThatoldwomanthoughtitwasforthatEmmaofhers.Whenshefound out what he wantedexactly, there was a row, I

can tell you. She would nothave Nina—not an hourlonger—inthehouse.Factis,Iheardofthisaffairandtookthegirl tomywife.Mywifeis a pretty good woman—aswomen go—and upon mywordwewouldhavekeptthegirl for you, only she wouldnot stay. Now, then! Don’tflare up, Kaspar. Sit still.Whatcanyoudo?It isbetterso.Letherstaywithyou.Shewas never happy over there.

ThosetwoVinckgirlsarenobetter than dressed-upmonkeys. They slighted her.You can’t make her white.It’s no use you swearing atme.Youcan’t.Sheisagoodgirlforallthat,butshewouldnot tell mywife anything. Ifyou want to know, ask heryourself; but if I was you Iwould leave her alone. Youare welcome to her passagemoney,oldfellow,ifyouareshort now.”And the skipper,

throwing away his cigar,walkedoff to“wakethemuponboard,”asheexpressedit.Almayervainlyexpectedto

hear of the cause of hisdaughter’s return from hisdaughter’s lips.Not thatday,not on anyother daydid sheever allude to her Singaporelife. He did not care to ask,awed by the calmimpassivenessofherface,bythose solemn eyes lookingpast him on the great, still

forests sleeping in majesticrepose to the murmur of thebroad river. He accepted thesituation, happy in thegentleand protecting affection thegirl showed him, fitfullyenough, for she had, as shecalled it, her bad days whenshe used to visit her motherand remain longhours in theriverside hut, coming out asinscrutableasever,butwithacontemptuous look and ashort word ready to answer

any of his speeches. He gotused even to that, and onthose days kept quiet,although greatly alarmed byhiswife’s influenceupon thegirl. Otherwise Nina adaptedherself wonderfully to thecircumstances of a half-savage and miserable life.She accepted withoutquestion or apparent disgustthe neglect, the decay, thepovertyof thehousehold, theabsence of furniture, and the

preponderanceofricedietonthe family table. She livedwith Almayer in the littlehouse (now sadly decaying)builtoriginallybyLingardforthe young couple. TheMalayseagerlydiscussedherarrival. There were at thebeginning crowded levées ofMalay women with theirchildren, seeking eagerlyafter“Ubat”foralltheillsofthe flesh from the youngMemPutih.Inthecoolofthe

evening grave Arabs in longwhite shirts and yellowsleeveless jackets walkedslowly on the dusty path bythe riverside towardsAlmayer’s gate, and madesolemn calls upon thatUnbeliever under shallowpretencesofbusiness,onlytoget a glimpse of the younggirl in a highly decorousmanner.EvenLakambacameoutofhisstockade inagreatpomp of war canoes and red

umbrellas, and landed on therotten little jetty of LingardandCo.Hecame,hesaid, tobuyacoupleofbrassgunsasa present to his friend thechief of Sambir Dyaks; andwhile Almayer, suspiciousbut polite, busied himself inunearthingtheoldpopgunsinthegodowns,theRajahsatonan armchair in the verandah,surrounded by his respectfulretinue waiting in vain forNina’s appearance. She was

in one of her bad days, andremained inhermother’shutwatching with her theceremonious proceedings onthe verandah. The Rajahdeparted, baffled butcourteous, and soonAlmayerbegan to reap the benefit ofimproved relations with theruler in the shape of therecovery of some debts, paidto him with many apologiesand many a low salaam bydebtors till then considered

hopelessly insolvent. Underthese improvingcircumstances Almayerbrightenedupalittle.Allwasnotlostperhaps.ThoseArabsandMalayssawatlastthathewasamanofsomeability,hethought. And he began, afterhis manner, to plan greatthings, to dream of greatfortunesforhimselfandNina.Especially for Nina! Underthese vivifying impulses heasked Captain Ford to write

to his friends in Englandmaking inquiries afterLingard. Was he alive ordead?Ifdead,hadheleftanypapers, documents; anyindications or hints as to hisgreat enterprise? Meantimehe had found amongst therubbish in one of the emptyroomsanote-bookbelongingto the old adventurer. Hestudied the crabbedhandwriting of its pages andoftengrewmeditativeoverit.

Other things also woke himup from his apathy. The stirmade in the whole of theislandbytheestablishmentofthe British Borneo Companyaffected even the sluggishflowof thePantai life.Greatchanges were expected;annexationwastalkedof; theArabs grew civil. Almayerbeganbuildinghisnewhousefor the use of the futureengineers, agents, or settlersof the new Company. He

spent every available guilderon it with a confiding heart.One thing only disturbed hishappiness: hiswife came outof her seclusion, importingher green jacket, scantsarongs, shrill voice, andwitch-like appearance, intohis quiet life in the smallbungalow. And his daughterseemed to accept that savageintrusion into their dailyexistence with wonderfulequanimity.Hedidnotlikeit,

butdaredsaynothing.

3Chapter

The deliberations conductedin London have a far-reaching importance, and sothe decision issued from thefog-veiled offices of theBorneo Company darkened

for Almayer the brilliantsunshine of the Tropics, andadded another drop ofbitterness to the cup of hisdisenchantments. The claimto thatpartof theEastCoastwas abandoned, leaving thePantai river under thenominalpowerofHolland.InSambir there was joy andexcitement. The slaves werehurried out of sight into theforest and jungle, and theflagswererunuptotallpoles

in the Rajah’s compound inexpectation of a visit fromDutchman-of-warboats.The frigate remained

anchored outside the mouthof the river, and the boatscameup in towof the steamlaunch, threading their waycautiously amongst a crowdof canoes filled with gailydressed Malays. The officerin command listened gravelyto the loyal speeches ofLakamba, returned the

salaams of Abdulla, andassured those gentlemen inchoice Malay of the greatRajah’s—down in Batavia—friendship and goodwilltowards the ruler andinhabitantsofthismodelstateofSambir.Almayerfromhisverandah

watched across the river thefestiveproceedings,heardthereport of brass guns salutingthe new flag presented toLakamba, and the deep

murmur of the crowd ofspectators surging round thestockade. The smoke of thefiringroseinwhitecloudsonthe green background of theforests,andhecouldnothelpcomparing his own fleetinghopes to the rapidlydisappearing vapour.Hewasby no means patrioticallyelated by the event, yet hehad to force himself into agraciousbehaviourwhen, theofficial reception being over,

the naval officers of theCommissioncrossedtheriverto pay a visit to the solitarywhitemanofwhomtheyhadheard, no doubtwishing alsoto catch a glimpse of hisdaughter. In that they weredisappointed, Nina refusingto show herself; but theyseemed easily consoled bythe gin and cheroots setbeforethembythehospitableAlmayer; and sprawlingcomfortably on the lame

armchairs under the shade ofthe verandah, while theblazing sunshine outsideseemed to set the great riversimmering in the heat, theyfilledthelittlebungalowwiththe unusual sounds ofEuropean languages, withnoise and laughter producedby naval witticisms at theexpense of the fat Lakambawhom they had beencomplimenting so much thatvery morning. The younger

men in an access of goodfellowship made their hosttalk,andAlmayer,excitedbythe sight of European faces,by the sound of Europeanvoices, opened his heartbefore the sympathisingstrangers, unaware of theamusement the recital of hismany misfortunes caused tothose future admirals. Theydrank his health,wished himmany big diamonds and amountain of gold, expressed

even an envy of the highdestinies awaiting him yet.Encouraged by so muchfriendliness, the grey-headedand foolish dreamer invitedhis guests to visit his newhouse. They went therethrough the long grass in astraggling procession whiletheirboatsweregotreadyforthe return down the river inthe cool of the evening.Andin the great empty roomswherethetepidwindentering

throughthesashlesswindowswhirled gently the driedleaves and the dust of manydays of neglect, Almayer inhiswhitejacketandfloweredsarong,surroundedbyacircleof glittering uniforms,stampedhis foot to show thesolidity of the neatly-fittingfloors and expatiated uponthe beauties and convenienceofthebuilding.Theylistenedand assented, amazed by thewonderful simplicity and the

foolish hopefulness of theman, till Almayer, carriedaway by his excitement,disclosed his regret at thenon-arrival of the English,“whoknewhowtodeveloparichcountry,”asheexpressedit.Therewasageneral laughamongsttheDutchofficersatthat unsophisticatedstatement, and a move wasmade towards the boats; butwhen Almayer, steppingcautiously on the rotten

boards of the Lingard jetty,tried toapproach thechiefofthe Commission with sometimid hints anent theprotection required by theDutch subject against thewily Arabs, that salt waterdiplomat told himsignificantly that the Arabswere better subjects thanHollanderswhodealtillegallyin gunpowder with theMalays. The innocentAlmayer recognised there at

once the oily tongue ofAbdulla and the solemnpersuasiveness of Lakamba,but ere he had time to frameanindignantprotestthesteamlaunchandthestringofboatsmovedrapidlydowntheriverleaving him on the jetty,standingopen-mouthedinhissurpriseandanger.Therearethirty miles of river fromSambir to the gem-likeislands of the estuary wherethe frigate was awaiting the

returnoftheboats.Themoonroselongbeforetheboatshadtraversed half that distance,and the black forest sleepingpeacefully under her coldrayswokeupthatnighttotheringing laughter in the smallflotilla provoked by somereminiscence of Almayer’slamentable narrative. Salt-water jests at thepoorman’sexpense were passed fromboat to boat, the non-appearance of his daughter

was commented upon withsevere displeasure, and thehalf-finished house built forthe reception of Englishmenreceivedon that joyousnightthe name of “Almayer’sFolly”bytheunanimousvoteofthelightheartedseamen.For many weeks after this

visit life in Sambir resumeditsevenanduneventful flow.Each day’s sun shooting itsmorning rays above the tree-tops lit up theusual sceneof

daily activity. Nina walkingon the path that formed theonly street in the settlementsaw the accustomed sight ofmenlollingontheshadysideof the houses, on the highplatforms; of women busilyengaged in husking the dailyrice;ofnakedbrownchildrenracing along the shady andnarrow paths leading to theclearings. Jim-Eng, strollingbefore his house, greeted herwith a friendly nod before

climbing up indoors to seekhis beloved opium pipe. Theelderchildrenclusteredroundher, daring from longacquaintance, pulling theskirts of her white robewiththeir dark fingers, andshowing their brilliant teethinexpectationofashowerofglassbeads.Shegreetedthemwithaquietsmile,butalwayshad a few friendlywords foraSiamesegirl,aslaveownedbyBulangi,whose numerous

wives were said to be of aviolent temper.Well-foundedrumour said also that thedomestic squabbles of thatindustrious cultivator endedgenerally in a combinedassault of all his wives uponthe Siamese slave. The girlherself never complained—perhaps from dictates ofprudence, but more likelythrough the strange, resignedapathy of half-savagewomankind. From early

morning she was to be seenon the paths amongst thehouses—by the riverside oron the jetties, the tray ofpastry, it was her mission tosell,skilfullybalancedonherhead.Duringthegreatheatofthe day she usually soughtrefuge in Almayer’scampong, often findingshelter in a shady corner ofthe verandah, where shesquattedwith her tray beforeher, when invited by Nina.

For “Mem Putih” she hadalways a smile, but thepresence of Mrs. Almayer,the very sound of her shrillvoice, was the signal for ahurrieddeparture.To this girl Nina often

spoke; the other inhabitantsof Sambir seldom or neverheardthesoundofhervoice.They got used to the silentfigure moving in their midstcalm and white-robed, abeingfromanotherworldand

incomprehensible to them.Yet Nina’s life for all heroutward composure, for alltheseemingdetachmentfromthe things and peoplesurroundingher,wasfarfromquiet,inconsequenceofMrs.Almayer being much tooactive for the happiness andevensafetyof thehousehold.She had resumed someintercourse with Lakamba,not personally, it is true (forthe dignity of that potentate

kepthiminsidehisstockade),butthroughtheagencyofthatpotentate’s prime minister,harbour master, financialadviser,andgeneralfactotum.That gentleman—of Suluorigin—was certainlyendowed with statesmanlikequalities, although he wastotally devoid of personalcharms. In truth he wasperfectly repulsive,possessingonlyoneeyeandapockmarked face, with nose

and lips horribly disfiguredby the small-pox. Thisunengaging individual oftenstrolled into Almayer’sgarden inunofficial costume,composed of a piece of pinkcalico roundhiswaist.Thereat the back of the house,squatting on his heels onscattered embers, in closeproximity to the great ironboiler,wherethefamilydailyricewasbeingcookedbythewomenunderMrs.Almayer’s

superintendence, did thatastute negotiator carry onlong conversations in Sululanguage with Almayer’swife. What the subject oftheir discourses was mighthave been guessed from thesubsequent domestic scenesbyAlmayer’shearthstone.Of lateAlmayerhad taken

to excursionsup the river. Ina small canoe with twopaddlers and the faithful Alifor a steersman he would

disappear fora fewdaysatatime.Allhismovementswereno doubt closely watched byLakambaandAbdulla,forthemanonceintheconfidenceofRajah Laut was supposed tobe in possession of valuablesecrets. The coast populationofBorneo believes implicitlyin diamonds of fabulousvalue, in gold mines ofenormous richness in theinterior. And all thoseimaginingsareheightenedby

the difficulty of penetratingfar inland, especially on thenorth-east coast, where theMalaysandtherivertribesofDyaks or Head-hunters areeternallyquarrelling.Itistrueenough that some goldreachesthecoastinthehandsof thoseDyakswhen, duringshort periods of truce in thedesultory warfare, they visitthe coast settlements ofMalays. And so the wildestexaggerationsarebuiltupand

addedtoontheslightbasisofthatfact.Almayer in his quality of

white man—as Lingardbefore him—had somewhatbetter relations with the up-river tribes. Yet even hisexcursions were not withoutdanger, and his returns wereeagerly looked for by theimpatient Lakamba. Butevery time the Rajah wasdisappointed. Vain were theconferencesbytherice-potof

his factotum Babalatchi withthe white man’s wife. Thewhite man himself wasimpenetrable—impenetrabletopersuasion,coaxing,abuse;to soft words and shrillrevilings; to desperatebeseechings or murderousthreats; forMrs.Almayer, inher extreme desire topersuadeherhusband intoanalliance with Lakamba,playeduponthewholegamutof passion. With her soiled

robewound tightlyunder thearmpits across her leanbosom,herscantgrayishhairtumbled in disorder over herprojecting cheek-bones, insuppliant attitude, shedepictedwithshrillvolubilitytheadvantagesofcloseunionwith a man so good and sofairdealing.“Why don’t you go to the

Rajah?” she screamed. “Whydo you go back to thoseDyaks in the great forest?

They should be killed. Youcannotkill them,youcannot;but our Rajah’s men arebrave! You tell the Rajahwhere the old white man’streasure is. Our Rajah isgood! He is our verygrandfather, Datu Besar! Hewill kill those wretchedDyaks, and you shall havehalf thetreasure.Oh,Kaspar,tellwherethetreasureis!Tellme! Tell me out of the oldman’s surat where you read

sooftenatnight.”On those occasions

Almayer sat with roundedshouldersbendingtotheblastof this domestic tempest,accentuating only each pausein the torrent of his wife’seloquencebyanangrygrowl,“There is no treasure! Goaway, woman!” Exasperatedby the sight of his patientlybent back, she would at lastwalkroundsoas to facehimacross the table,andclasping

her robe with one hand shestretched the other lean armand claw-like hand toemphasise, in a passion ofangerandcontempt,therapidrush of scathing remarks andbitter cursings heaped on theheadof themanunworthy toassociate with brave Malaychiefs. It ended generally byAlmayer rising slowly, hislongpipeinhand,hisfacesetinto a look of inward pain,andwalking away in silence.

He descended the steps andplungedintothelonggrassonhisway to thesolitudeofhisnew house, dragging his feetinastateofphysicalcollapsefrom disgust and fear beforethatfury.Shefollowedtotheheadofthesteps,andsenttheshaftsofindiscriminateabuseaftertheretreatingform.Andeach of those scenes wasconcluded by a piercingshriek, reaching him faraway. “You know, Kaspar, I

am your wife! your ownChristianwifeafteryourownBlanda law!” For she knewthat this was the bitterestthingofall;thegreatestregretofthatman’slife.All these scenes Nina

witnessed unmoved. Shemighthavebeendeaf,dumb,without any feeling as far asany expression of opinionwent.Yetoftwhenherfatherhad sought the refuge of thegreat dusty rooms of

“Almayer’s Folly,” and hermother, exhausted byrhetorical efforts, squattedwearilyonherheelswithherback against the leg of thetable, Nina would approachher curiously, guarding herskirts from betel juicebesprinkling the floor, andgaze down upon her as onemight look into thequiescentcrater of a volcano after adestructive eruption. Mrs.Almayer’s thoughts, after

these scenes, were usuallyturned into a channel ofchildhoodreminiscences,andshe gave them utterance in akindofmonotonousrecitative—slightly disconnected, butgenerally describing thegloriesof theSultanofSulu,his great splendour, hispower,hisgreatprowess; thefear which benumbed thehearts of white men at thesight of his swift piraticalpraus. And these muttered

statements of hergrandfather’s might weremixed up with bits of laterrecollections,where thegreatfight with the “WhiteDevil’s”brigandtheconventlifeinSamarangoccupiedtheprincipal place.At that pointshe usually dropped thethread of her narrative, andpulling out the little brasscross, always suspendedround her neck, shecontemplated it with

superstitious awe. Thatsuperstitious feelingconnected with some vaguetalismanic properties of thelittlebitofmetal,andthestillmorehazybut terriblenotionof some bad Djinns andhorribletormentsinvented,asshe thought, for her especialpunishment by the goodMother Superior in case ofthe loss of the above charm,were Mrs. Almayer’s onlytheological luggage for the

stormy road of life. Mrs.Almayer had at leastsomething tangible to clingto, but Nina, brought upunder the Protestant wing ofthe proper Mrs. Vinck, hadnotevenalittlepieceofbrassto remind her of pastteaching.Andlisteningtotherecital of those savageglories,thosebarbarousfightsand savage feasting, to thestoryofdeedsvalorous,albeitsomewhatbloodthirsty,where

men of her mother’s raceshone far above the OrangBlanda, she felt herselfirresistibly fascinated, andsaw with vague surprise thenarrow mantle of civilisedmorality, in which good-meaningpeoplehadwrappedheryoungsoul,fallawayandleave her shivering andhelpless as if on the edge ofsome deep and unknownabyss. Strangest of all, thisabyss did not frighten her

when she was under theinfluence of the witch-likebeing she called her mother.Sheseemedtohaveforgottenin civilised surroundings herlife before the time whenLingard had, so to speak,kidnapped her from Brow.Since then she had hadChristian teaching, socialeducation, and a goodglimpse of civilised life.Unfortunately her teachersdidnotunderstandhernature,

and the education ended in ascene of humiliation, in anoutburst of contempt fromwhite people for her mixedblood. She had tasted thewhole bitterness of it andremembered distinctly thatthe virtuous Mrs. Vinck’sindignationwas not somuchdirected against the youngmanfromthebankasagainstthe innocent cause of thatyoungman’sinfatuation.Andtherewasalsonodoubtinher

mind that the principal causeof Mrs. Vinck’s indignationwas the thought that such athing should happen in awhite nest, where her snow-white doves, the twoMissesVinck,hadjustreturnedfromEurope, to find shelter underthematernal wing, and thereawait the coming ofirreproachable men of theirdestiny.Noteventhethoughtof the money so painfullyscrapedtogetherbyAlmayer,

and so punctually sent forNina’s expenses, coulddissuadeMrs.Vinckfromhervirtuous resolve. Nina wassent away, and in truth thegirl herself wanted to go,althoughalittlefrightenedbythe impending change. Andnow she had lived on theriver for three years with asavage mother and a fatherwalking about amongstpitfalls, with his head in theclouds, weak, irresolute, and

unhappy.Shehadlivedalifedevoidofallthedecenciesofcivilisation, in miserabledomestic conditions; she hadbreathedintheatmosphereofsordid plottings for gain, ofthe no less disgustingintrigues and crimes for lustor money; and those things,together with the domesticquarrels,weretheonlyeventsof her three years’ existence.She did not die from despairanddisgustthefirstmonth,as

she expected and almosthopedfor.Onthecontrary,atthe end of half a year it hadseemed to her that she hadknown no other life. Heryoung mind having beenunskilfully permitted toglance at better things, andthen thrown back again intothe hopeless quagmire ofbarbarism, full of strong anduncontrolled passions, hadlost the power todiscriminate. It seemed to

Ninathattherewasnochangeand no difference. Whetherthey traded inbrickgodownsor on the muddy river bank;whether they reached aftermuch or little; whether theymadeloveundertheshadowsof the great trees or in theshadow of the cathedral onthe Singapore promenade;whethertheyplottedfortheirown ends under theprotection of laws andaccording to the rules of

Christianconduct,orwhetherthey sought the gratificationof their desires with thesavage cunning and theunrestrained fierceness ofnaturesasinnocentofcultureas their own immense andgloomy forests, Nina sawonly the samemanifestationsofloveandhateandofsordidgreed chasing the uncertaindollar in all its multifariousandvanishing shapes.Toherresolute nature, however,

after all these years, thesavage and uncompromisingsincerityofpurposeshownbyherMalaykinsmenseemedatlast preferable to the sleekhypocrisy, to the politedisguises, to the virtuouspretences of such whitepeople as she had had themisfortunetocomeincontactwith.Afterallitwasherlife;it was going to be her life,andsothinkingshefellmoreandmoreundertheinfluence

ofhermother.Seeking,inherignorance,abettersidetothatlife, she listenedwith avidityto the old woman’s tales ofthe departed glories of theRajahs, fromwhose race shehad sprung, and she becamegradually more indifferent,more contemptuous of thewhite side of her descentrepresented by a feeble andtraditionlessfather.Almayer’sdifficultieswere

by no means diminished by

thegirl’spresenceinSambir.Thestircausedbyherarrivalhad died out, it is true, andLakambahadnotrenewedhisvisits; but about a year afterthe departure of the man-of-war boats the nephew ofAbdulla, Syed Reshid,returned from his pilgrimagetoMecca,rejoicinginagreenjacket and the proud title ofHadji. There was a greatlettingoffofrocketsonboardthe steamer which brought

himin,andagreatbeatingofdrums all night in Abdulla’scompound,while the feastofwelcome was prolonged farinto the small hours of themorning. Reshid was thefavourite nephew and heir ofAbdulla, and that lovinguncle, meeting Almayer oneday by the riverside, stoppedpolitely toexchangecivilitiesand to ask solemnly for aninterview.Almayersuspectedsomeattemptataswindle,or

at any rate somethingunpleasant, but of courseconsented with a great showof rejoicing.Accordingly thenext evening, after sunset,Abdulla came, accompaniedby several other grey-beardsand by his nephew. Thatyoungman—ofaveryrakishand dissipated appearance—affected the greatestindifference as to the wholeoftheproceedings.Whenthetorch-bearers had grouped

themselves below the steps,and the visitors had seatedthemselves on various lamechairs, Reshid stood apart inthe shadow, examining hisaristocratically small handswithgreatattention.Almayer,surprised by the greatsolemnity of his visitors,perchedhimselfonthecornerof the table with acharacteristicwant of dignityquickly noted by the Arabswith grave disapproval. But

Abdulla spoke now, lookingstraight past Almayer at thered curtain hanging in thedoorway, where a slighttremordisclosedthepresenceof women on the other side.He began by neatlycomplimentingAlmayeruponthelongyearstheyhaddwelttogether in cordialneighbourhood, and calleduponAllahtogivehimmanymore years to gladden theeyes of his friends by his

welcome presence. He madea polite allusion to the greatconsideration shown him(Almayer) by the Dutch“Commissie,” and drewthencetheflatteringinferenceof Almayer’s greatimportance amongst his ownpeople. He—Abdulla—wasalso important amongst allthe Arabs, and his nephewReshidwould be heir of thatsocial position and of greatriches. Now Reshid was a

Hadji. He was possessor ofseveral Malay women, wentonAbdulla,butitwastimehehadafavouritewife, thefirstof the four allowed by theProphet. And, speaking withwell-bred politeness, heexplained further to thedumbfounded Almayer that,if he would consent to thealliance of his offspringwiththattruebelieverandvirtuousmanReshid,shewouldbethemistressofall thesplendours

of Reshid’s house, and firstwife of the first Arab in theIslands,whenhe—Abdulla—was called to the joys ofParadise by Allah the All-merciful.“Youknow,Tuan,”he said, in conclusion, “theother women would be herslaves, andReshid’shouse isgreat. From Bombay he hasbrought great divans, andcostly carpets, and Europeanfurniture.Thereisalsoagreatlooking-glass in a frame

shininglikegold.Whatcouldagirlwantmore?”AndwhileAlmayer looked upon him insilent dismay Abdulla spokein a more confidential tone,waving his attendants away,and finished his speech bypointing out the materialadvantages of such analliance,andofferingtosettleuponAlmayerthreethousanddollarsasasignofhissincerefriendshipandthepriceofthegirl.

Poor Almayer was nearlyhavingafit.Burningwiththedesire of taking Abdulla bythethroat,hehadbuttothinkofhishelplesspositioninthemidst of lawless men tocomprehend the necessity ofdiplomatic conciliation. Hemastered his impulses, andspoke politely and coldly,sayingthegirlwasyoungandas theappleofhiseye.TuanReshid, a Faithful and aHadji, would not want an

infidel woman in his harem;and, seeing Abdulla smilesceptically at that lastobjection,heremainedsilent,not trusting himself to speakmore, not daring to refusepoint-blank, nor yet to sayanything compromising.Abdulla understood themeaning of that silence, androse to take leave with agrave salaam. Hewished hisfriend Almayer “a thousandyears,” andmoved down the

steps, helped dutifully byReshid. The torch-bearersshooktheirtorches,scatteringa shower of sparks into theriver, and the cortegemovedoff, leavingAlmayeragitatedbut greatly relieved by theirdeparture.He dropped into achair and watched theglimmerofthelightsamongstthe tree trunks till theydisappeared and completesilence succeeded the trampof feet and the murmur of

voices. He did not move tillthe curtain rustled and Ninacameoutontheverandahandsat in the rocking-chair,where she used to spendmany hours every day. Shegave a slight rockingmotiontoherseat,leaningbackwithhalf-closedeyes,herlonghairshading her face from thesmoky light of the lamp onthe table. Almayer looked atherfurtively,butthefacewasas impassible as ever. She

turned her head slightlytowards her father, and,speaking, to his greatsurprise,inEnglish,asked—“WasthatAbdullahere?”“Yes,” said Almayer

—“justgone.”“And what did he want,

father?”“Hewantedtobuyyoufor

Reshid,” answered Almayer,brutally,hisangergettingthebetter of him, and looking atthegirlasifinexpectationof

someoutbreakoffeeling.ButNina remained apparentlyunmoved, gazing dreamilyintotheblacknightoutside.“Be careful, Nina,” said

Almayer,afterashortsilenceand rising from his chair,“whenyougopaddlingaloneintothecreeksinyourcanoe.That Reshid is a violentscoundrel, and there is nosaying what he may do. Doyouhearme?”She was standing now,

ready to go in, one handgrasping the curtain in thedoorway. She turned round,throwing her heavy tressesbackbyasuddengesture.“Do you think he would

dare?” she asked, quickly,and then turned again to goin, adding in a lower tone,“He would not dare. Arabsareallcowards.”Almayer looked after her,

astonished. He did not seekthe repose of his hammock.

Hewalkedthefloorabsently,sometimes stopping by thebalustradetothink.Thelampwent out. The first streak ofdawn broke over the forest;Almayer shivered in thedamp air. “I give it up,” hemuttered to himself, lyingdown wearily. “Damn thosewomen!Well! If the girl didnot look as if she wanted tobekidnapped!”Andhefeltanamelessfear

creep into his heart, making

himshiveragain.

4Chapter

That year, towards thebreakingupofthesouth-westmonsoon, disquietingrumours reached Sambir.Captain Ford, coming up toAlmayer’s house for an

evening’s chat, brought latenumbers of the Straits Timesgiving the news of Acheenwar and of the unsuccessfulDutch expedition. TheNakhodas of the rare tradingprausascendingtheriverpaidvisits toLakamba,discussingwith that potentate theunsettled state of affairs, andwagged their heads gravelyover the recital of OrangBlandaexaction,severity,andgeneral tyranny, as

exemplified in the totalstoppage of gunpowder tradeandtherigorousvisitingofallsuspiciouscrafttradinginthestraits ofMacassar. Even theloyal soul of Lakamba wasstirred into a state of inwarddiscontent by the withdrawalofhis licenseforpowderandby the abrupt confiscation ofonehundredand fiftybarrelsof that commodity by thegunboat Princess Amelia,when, after a hazardous

voyage,ithadalmostreachedthe mouth of the river. Theunpleasant news was givenhimbyReshid,who,aftertheunsuccessful issue of hismatrimonial projects, hadmadea longvoyageamongstthe islands for tradingpurposes; had bought thepowder for his friend, andwas overhauled and deprivedof it on his return whenactually congratulatinghimself on his acuteness in

avoiding detection. Reshid’swrath was principallydirected against Almayer,whomhesuspectedofhavingnotified theDutchauthoritiesof the desultory warfarecarried on by the Arabs andthe Rajah with the up-riverDyaktribes.To Reshid’s great surprise

the Rajah received hiscomplaints very coldly, andshowed no signs of vengefuldisposition towards thewhite

man.Intruth,Lakambaknewvery well that Almayer wasperfectly innocent of anymeddling instateaffairs;andbesides, his attitude towardsthat much persecutedindividual was whollychanged in consequence of areconciliation effectedbetween him and his oldenemy by Almayer’s newly-foundfriend,DainMaroola.Almayerhadnowafriend.

Shortly after Reshid’s

departure on his commercialjourney,Nina,driftingslowlywith the tide in the canoeonher return home after one ofhersolitaryexcursions,heardin one of the small creeks asplashing, as if of heavyropes dropping in the water,and the prolonged song ofMalay seamen when someheavy pulling is to be done.Through the thick fringe ofbushes hiding the mouth ofthe creek she saw the tall

spars of some European-rigged sailing vesselovertopping the summits ofthe Nipa palms. A brig wasbeinghauledoutof thesmallcreek into the main stream.The sun had set, and duringtheshortmomentsoftwilightNina saw the brig, aided bythe evening breeze and theflowing tide, head towardsSambirunderhersetforesail.Thegirl turnedhercanoeoutof themain river into one of

the many narrow channelsamongst the wooded islets,and paddled vigorously overthe black and sleepybackwaters towards Sambir.Hercanoebrushedthewater-palms, skirted the shortspacesofmuddybankwheresedatealligatorslookedatherwithlazyunconcern,and,justas darkness was setting in,shot out into the broadjunction of the two mainbranches of the river, where

thebrigwasalreadyatanchorwith sails furled, yardssquared,anddecksseeminglyuntenanted by any humanbeing. Nina had to cross theriver andpasspretty close tothe brig in order to reachhomeon the lowpromontorybetween the two branches ofthePantai.Upbothbranches,in the houses built on thebanksandoverthewater,thelights twinkled already,reflected in the still waters

below. The hum of voices,theoccasional cryof a child,the rapid and abruptlyinterrupted roll of a woodendrum, together with somedistanthailinginthedarknessby the returning fishermen,reached her over the broadexpanse of the river. Shehesitated a little beforecrossing, thesightofsuchanunusual object as anEuropean-rigged vesselcausingher someuneasiness,

but the river in its wideexpansion was dark enoughto render a small canoeinvisible.Sheurgedhersmallcraftwithswiftstrokesofherpaddle, kneeling in thebottom and bending forwardtocatchanysuspicioussoundwhileshesteeredtowardsthelittlejettyofLingardandCo.,to which the strong light ofthe paraffin lamp shining onthewhitewashed verandah ofAlmayer’s bungalow served

as a convenient guide. Thejetty itself, under the shadowof the bank overgrown bydrooping bushes,was hiddenin darkness. Before even shecould see it she heard thehollow bumping of a largeboat against its rotten posts,andheardalsothemurmurofwhispered conversation inthat boat whose white paintand great dimensions, faintlyvisible on nearer approach,madeherrightlyguessthat it

belonged to the brig justanchored. Stopping hercourse by a rapid motion ofherpaddle,withanotherswiftstroke she sent it whirlingaway from the wharf andsteered for a little rivuletwhichgaveaccesstothebackcourtyard of the house. Shelanded at themuddy head ofthe creek and made her waytowards the house over thetrodden grass of thecourtyard. To the left, from

thecookingshed,shonearedglare through the bananaplantationsheskirted,andthenoise of feminine laughterreachedher fromthere in thesilent evening. She rightlyjudged her mother was notnear, laughter and Mrs.Almayer not being closeneighbours. She must be inthe house, thought Nina, assheranlightlyuptheinclinedplaneofshakyplanksleadingto the back door of the

narrow passage dividing thehouse in two. Outside thedoorway, in the blackshadow, stood the faithfulAli.“Who is there?” asked

Nina.“A great Malay man has

come,” answered Ali, in atone of suppressedexcitement. “He is a richman.There are sixmenwithlances. Real Soldat, youunderstand. And his dress is

very brave. I have seen hisdress.Itshines!Whatjewels!Don’t go there, Mem Nina.Tuan said not; but the oldMem is gone. Tuan will beangry. Merciful Allah! whatjewelsthatmanhasgot!”Nina slipped past the

outstretchedhandoftheslaveinto the dark passage where,in the crimson glow of thehanging curtain, close by itsother end, she could see asmall dark form crouching

nearthewall.Hermotherwasfeasting her eyes and earswith what was taking placeon the front verandah, andNina approached to take hershare in the rare pleasure ofsome novelty. She was metbyhermother’sextendedarmand by a low murmuredwarningnottomakeanoise.“Have you seen them,

mother?” asked Nina, in abreathlesswhisper.Mrs. Almayer turned her

facetowardsthegirl,andhersunken eyes shone strangelyin the red half-light of thepassage.“Isawhim,”shesaid,inan

almost inaudible tone,pressing her daughter’s handwith her bony fingers. “Agreat Rajah has come toSambir—a Son of Heaven,”muttered the old woman toherself.“Goaway,girl!”The two women stood

close to the curtain, Nina

wishing to approach the rentin the stuff, and her motherdefending the position withangryobstinacy.Ontheotherside there was a lull in theconversation, but thebreathingof severalmen, theoccasional light tinkling ofsomeornaments, the clinkofmetal scabbards, or of brasssiri-vesselspassed fromhandto hand, was audible duringthe short pause. The womenstruggledsilently,whenthere

wasashufflingnoiseandtheshadow of Almayer’s burlyformfellonthecurtain.The women ceased

struggling and remainedmotionless. Almayer hadstoodup toanswerhisguest,turning his back to thedoorway, unaware of whatwas going on on the otherside. He spoke in a tone ofregretfulirritation.“You have come to the

wrong house, TuanMaroola,

if you want to trade as yousay. Iwas a trader once, notnow,whateveryoumayhaveheard aboutme inMacassar.And if you want anything,you will not find it here; Ihave nothing to give, andwant nothing myself. Youshould go to the Rajah here;youcanseeinthedaytimehishousesacrosstheriver,there,where thosefiresareburningontheshore.Hewillhelpyouandtradewithyou.Or,better

still, go to the Arabs overthere,” he went on bitterly,pointing with his handtowardsthehousesofSambir.“Abdulla is the man youwant. There is nothing hewould not buy, and there isnothing he would not sell;believe me, I know himwell.”Hewaited for an answer a

shorttime,thenadded—“AllthatIhavesaidistrue,

andthereisnothingmore.”

Nina, held back by hermother, heard a soft voicereplywithacalmevennessofintonation peculiar to thebetterclassMalays—“Whowoulddoubtawhite

Tuan’s words? A man seekshis friends where his hearttellshim.Isthisnottruealso?Ihavecome,althoughsolate,for I have something to saywhich you may be glad tohear.To-morrow Iwill go totheSultan;a traderwants the

friendshipofgreatmen.ThenI shall return here to speakserious words, if Tuanpermits. I shall not go to theArabs; their lies are verygreat! What are they?Chelakka!”Almayer’svoicesoundeda

littlemorepleasantlyinreply.“Well, as you like. I can

hear you to-morrow at anytime if you have anything tosay.Bah!Afteryouhaveseenthe SultanLakamba youwill

notwanttoreturnhere,InchiDain. You will see. Onlymind, I will have nothing todo with Lakamba. You maytell him so. What is yourbusinesswithme,afterall?”“To-morrowwetalk,Tuan,

now I know you,” answeredtheMalay.“IspeakEnglishalittle, so we can talk andnobody will understand, andthen—”He interrupted himself

suddenly, asking surprised,

“What’sthatnoise,Tuan?”Almayerhadalsoheardthe

increasingnoiseofthescufflerecommenced on thewomen’s side of the curtain.Evidently Nina’s strongcuriositywas on the point ofovercoming Mrs. Almayer’sexalted sense of socialproprieties. Hard breathingwas distinctly audible, andthe curtain shook during thecontest, which was mainlyphysical, although Mrs.

Almayer’svoicewasheardinangry remonstrance with itsusual want of strictly logicalreasoning, butwith thewell-knownrichnessofinvective.“You shameless woman!

Are you a slave?” shoutedshrillytheiratematron.“Veilyourface,abandonedwretch!You white snake, I will notletyou!”Almayer’s face expressed

annoyance and also doubt asto the advisability of

interfering between motherand daughter. He glanced athis Malay visitor, who waswaitingsilentlyfortheendofthe uproar in an attitude ofamused expectation, andwaving his handcontemptuouslyhemurmured—“It is nothing. Some

women.”The Malay nodded his

head gravely, and his faceassumed an expression of

serene indifference, asetiquettedemandedaftersuchan explanation. The contestwasendedbehindthecurtain,and evidently the youngerwillhaditsway,fortherapidshuffle and click of Mrs.Almayer’s high-heeledsandals died away in thedistance. The tranquillisedmaster of the house wasgoing to resume theconversationwhen, struckbyan unexpected change in the

expression of his guest’scountenance, he turned hishead and saw Nina standinginthedoorway.After Mrs. Almayer’s

retreatfromthefieldofbattle,Nina, with a contemptuousexclamation, “It’s only atrader,” had lifted theconquered curtain and nowstood in full light, framed inthe dark background on thepassage, her lips slightlyparted, her hair in disorder

after the exertion, the angrygleamnotyetfadedoutofherglorious and sparkling eyes.She took in at a glance thegroupofwhite-cladlancemenstanding motionless in theshadow of the far-off end ofthe verandah, and her gazerested curiously on the chiefof that imposing cortége. Hestood, almost facing her, alittle on one side, and struckby the beauty of theunexpected apparition had

bent low, elevating his jointhands above his head in asign of respect accorded byMalays only to the great ofthis earth. The crude light ofthe lamp shone on the goldembroidery of his black silkjacket, broke in a thousandsparklingraysonthejewelledhilt of his kriss protrudingfromunderthemanyfoldsoftheredsaronggatheredintoasash round his waist, andplayedonthepreciousstones

ofthemanyringsonhisdarkfingers. He straightenedhimself up quickly after thelow bow, putting his handwith a graceful ease on thehilt of his heavy short swordornamented with brilliantlydyed fringes of horsehair.Nina, hesitating on thethreshold, saw an erect lithefigureofmediumheightwitha breadth of shouldersuggesting great power.Under the folds of a blue

turban, whose fringed endshung gracefully over the leftshoulder, was a face full ofdetermination and expressinga reckless good-humour, notdevoid, however, of somedignity. The squareness oflower jaw, the full red lips,the mobile nostrils, and theproud carriage of the headgave the impression of abeing half-savage, untamed,perhaps cruel, and correctedthe liquid softness of the

almost feminine eye, thatgeneral characteristic of therace. Now, the first surpriseover, Nina saw those eyesfixed upon her with such anuncontrolled expression ofadmirationanddesirethatshefelt a hitherto unknownfeeling of shyness, mixedwithalarmandsomedelight,enterandpenetrateherwholebeing.Confusedbythoseunusual

sensations she stopped in the

doorway and instinctivelydrew the lower part of thecurtain across her face,leaving only half a roundedcheek, a stray tress, and oneeye exposed, wherewith tocontemplatethegorgeousandbold being so unlike inappearance to the rarespecimens of traders she hadseen before on that sameverandah.Dain Maroola, dazzled by

the unexpected vision, forgot

theconfusedAlmayer, forgothis brig, his escort staring inopen-mouthedadmiration,theobject of his visit and allthings else, in hisoverpowering desire toprolong the contemplation ofso much loveliness met sosuddenly in such an unlikelyplace—ashethought.“It is my daughter,” said

Almayer, in an embarrassedmanner. “It is of noconsequence. White women

have their customs, as youknow Tuan, having travelledmuch, as you say. However,it is late; we will finish ourtalkto-morrow.”Dain bent low trying to

convey in a last glancetowards the girl the boldexpression of hisoverwhelming admiration.The next minute he wasshakingAlmayer’shandwithgrave courtesy, his facewearing a look of stolid

unconcernastoanyfemininepresence. His men filed off,and he followed themquickly,closelyattendedbyathick-set, savage-lookingSumatrese he had introducedbefore as the commander ofhis brig. Nina walked to thebalustrade of the verandahand saw the sheen ofmoonlighton the steel spear-headsandheardtherhythmicjingle of brass anklets as themen moved in single file

towards the jetty. The boatshovedoffafteralittlewhile,loominglargeinthefulllightof the moon, a blackshapeless mass in the slighthaze hanging over thewater.Nina fancied she coulddistinguishthegracefulfigureofthetraderstandingerectinthesternsheets,butinalittlewhile all the outlines gotblurred, confused, and soondisappeared in the folds ofwhite vapour shrouding the

middleoftheriver.Almayer had approached

hisdaughter,andleaningwithboth arms over the rail, waslookingmoodilydownontheheap of rubbish and brokenbottles at the foot of theverandah.“What was all that noise

just now?” he growledpeevishly, without lookingup. “Confound you and yourmother!What did she want?Whatdidyoucomeoutfor?”

“Shedidnotwanttoletmecomeout,”saidNina.“Sheisangry. She says theman justgone is some Rajah. I thinksheisrightnow.”“I believe all you women

are crazy,” snarled Almayer.“What’sthattoyou,toher,toanybody? The man wants tocollect trepang and birds’nests on the islands. He toldme so, that Rajah of yours.He will come to-morrow. Iwant you both to keep away

from the house, and let meattend to my business inpeace.”Dain Maroola came the

next day and had a longconversation with Almayer.This was the beginning of acloseandfriendlyintercoursewhich, at first, was muchremarked in Sambir, till thepopulation got used to thefrequent sight of many firesburning in Almayer’scampong, where Maroola’s

men were warmingthemselves during the coldnights of the north-eastmonsoon, while their masterhadlongconferenceswiththeTuan Putih—as they styledAlmayeramongstthemselves.Great was the curiosity inSambir on the subject of thenew trader. Had he seen theSultan? What did the Sultansay? Had he given anypresents? What would hesell? What would he buy?

Those were the questionsbroached eagerly by theinhabitantsofbamboohousesbuilt over the river. Even inmoresubstantialbuildings,inAbdulla’s house, in theresidences of principaltraders, Arab, Chinese, andBugis, the excitement ranhigh, and lasted many days.With inborn suspicion theywould not believe the simpleaccountofhimself theyoungtrader was always ready to

give. Yet it had all theappearance of truth. He saidhewasatrader,andsoldrice.Hedidnotwanttobuygutta-percha or beeswax, becausehe intended to employ hisnumerous crew in collectingtrepang on the coral reefsoutside the river, and also inseekingforbird’snestsonthemainland. Those two articlesheprofessedhimselfreadytobuy if there were any to beobtainedinthatway.Hesaid

he was from Bali, and aBrahmin, which laststatement he made good byrefusing all food during hisoften repeated visits toLakamba’s and Almayer’shouses.ToLakambahewentgenerally at night and hadlong audiences. Babalatchi,whowasalwaysathirdpartyatthosemeetingsofpotentateandtrader,knewhowtoresistallattemptsonthepartofthecurious to ascertain the

subjectofsomanylongtalks.When questioned withlanguidcourtesybythegraveAbdullahesoughtrefugeinavacant stare of his one eye,and in the affectation ofextremesimplicity.“I am only my master’s

slave,”murmuredBabalatchi,in a hesitatingmanner. Thenas if making up his mindsuddenly for a recklessconfidence he would informAbdulla of some transaction

in rice, repeating the words,“A hundred big bags theSultan bought; a hundred,Tuan!” in a tone ofmysterious solemnity.Abdulla, firmly persuaded ofthe existence of some moreimportant dealings, received,however, the informationwithallthesignsofrespectfulastonishment. And the twowould separate, the Arabcursing inwardly the wilydog, while Babalatchi went

on his way walking on thedustypath,hisbodyswaying,his chin with its few greyhairs pushed forward,resemblinganinquisitivegoatbent on some unlawfulexpedition. Attentive eyeswatchedhismovements.Jim-Eng,descryingBabalatchifaraway, would shake off thestupor of an habitual opiumsmoker and, tottering on tothemiddleoftheroad,wouldawait the approach of that

important person, ready withhospitable invitation. ButBabalatchi’s discretion wasproof even against thecombined assaults of goodfellowship and of strong gingenerously administered bythe open-hearted Chinaman.Jim-Eng, owning himselfbeaten, was left uninformedwith the empty bottle, andgazed sadly after thedeparting form of thestatesmanofSambirpursuing

his devious and unsteadyway,which,asusual,ledhimto Almayer’s compound.Ever since a reconciliationhad been effected by DainMaroola between his whitefriendandtheRajah,theone-eyed diplomatist had againbecome a frequent guest inthe Dutchman’s house. ToAlmayer’s great disgust hewas to be seen there at alltimes, strolling about in anabstractedkindofwayonthe

verandah, skulking in thepassages, or else poppinground unexpected corners,alwayswillingtoengageMrs.Almayer in confidentialconversation. He was veryshy of themaster himself, asif suspicious that the pent-upfeelings of the white mantowardshispersonmightfindventinasuddenkick.Butthecooking shed was hisfavourite place, and hebecame an habitual guest

there, squatting for hoursamongst the busy women,with his chin resting on hisknees, his lean arms claspedround his legs, and his oneeyerovinguneasily—theverypicture of watchful ugliness.Almayer wanted more thanoncetocomplaintoLakambaof his Prime Minister’sintrusion,butDaindissuadedhim. “We cannot say awordhere that he does not hear,”growledAlmayer.

“Then come and talk onboard the brig,” retortedDain,withaquietsmile.“Itisgood to let the man comehere. Lakamba thinks heknows much. Perhaps theSultan thinks I want to runaway.Better let theone-eyedcrocodilesunhimself inyourcampong,Tuan.”And Almayer assented

unwillingly muttering vaguethreats of personal violence,while he eyed malevolently

the aged statesman sittingwith quiet obstinacy by hisdomesticrice-pot.

5Chapter

At last the excitement haddied out in Sambir. Theinhabitants got used to thesight of comings and goingsbetweenAlmayer’shouseandthevessel,nowmooredtothe

opposite bank, andspeculationas to the feverishactivity displayed byAlmayer’s boatmen inrepairingoldcanoesceasedtointerfere with the duedischarge of domestic dutiesby the women of theSettlement. Even the baffledJim-Engleftoff troublinghismuddledbrainwithsecretsoftrade,andrelapsedbytheaidofhisopiumpipeintoastateof stupefied bliss, letting

Babalatchi pursue his waypast his house uninvited andseeminglyunnoticed.Soonthatwarmafternoon,

when the deserted riversparkled under the verticalsun, the statesman of Sambircould,without any hindrancefromfriendlyinquirers,shoveoffhislittlecanoefromunderthe bushes, where it wasusually hidden during hisvisits to Almayer’scompound. Slowly and

languidlyBabalatchipaddled,crouching low in the boat,making himself small underhis as enormous sun hat toescape the scorching heatreflected from the water. Hewasnotinahurry;hismaster,Lakamba, was surelyreposing at this time of theday. He would have ampletime to cross over and greethim on his waking withimportant news. Will he bedispleased?Willhestrikehis

ebony wood staff angrily onthe floor, frightening him bytheincoherentviolenceofhisexclamations;orwillhesquatdownwith a good-humouredsmile,and,rubbinghishandsgently over his stomachwithafamiliargesture,expectoratecopiously into the brass siri-vessel, giving vent to a low,approbative murmur? SuchwereBabalatchi’sthoughtsashe skilfully handled hispaddle, crossing the river on

his way to the Rajah’scampong, whose stockadesshowed from behind thedensefoliageofthebankjustopposite to Almayer’sbungalow.Indeed, he had a report to

make. Something certain atlast to confirm the daily taleof suspicions, the daily hintsof familiarity, of stolenglanceshehad seen,of shortand burning words he hadoverheard exchanged

between Dain Maroola andAlmayer’sdaughter.Lakamba had, till then,

listened to it all, calmly andwithevidentdistrust;nowhewas going to be convinced,forBabalatchi had the proof;had it this very morning,when fishing at break of dayinthecreekoverwhichstoodBulangi’s house. There fromhis skiff he saw Nina’s longcanoe drift past, the girlsitting in the stern bending

overDain,whowasstretchedin the bottom with his headrestingonthegirl’sknees.Hesawit.Hefollowedthem,butin a short time they took tothe paddles and got awayfromunderhisobservanteye.A fewminutes afterwards hesaw Bulangi’s slave-girlpaddlinginasmalldug-outtothe town with her cakes forsale. She also had seen themin the grey dawn. AndBabalatchi grinned

confidentially to himself atthe recollection of the slave-girl’s discomposed face, ofthe hard look in her eyes, ofthe tremble in her voice,when answering hisquestions.ThatlittleTaminahevidently admired DainMaroola.Thatwasgood!AndBabalatchi laughed aloud atthe notion; then becomingsuddenlyserious,hebeganbysome strange association ofideas to speculate upon the

price for which Bulangiwould, possibly, sell the girl.He shook his head sadly atthe thought that Bulangiwasa hardman, and had refusedone hundred dollars for thatsame Taminah only a fewweeks ago; then he becamesuddenlyawarethatthecanoehad drifted too far downduring his meditation. Heshook off the despondencycaused by the certitude ofBulangi’s mercenary

disposition,and,takinguphispaddle, in a few strokessheered alongside the water-gateoftheRajah’shouse.ThatafternoonAlmayer,as

was his wont lately, movedabout on the water-side,overlookingtherepairstohisboats.Hehaddecidedatlast.Guided by the scraps ofinformation contained in oldLingard’s pocket-book, hewasgoingtoseekfortherichgold-mine, for that place

wherehehadonlytostooptogatherupanimmensefortuneand realise the dream of hisyoung days. To obtain thenecessaryhelphehad sharedhis knowledge with DainMaroola,hehadconsentedtobe reconciledwith Lakamba,who gave his support to theenterprise on condition ofsharing the profits; he hadsacrificed his pride, hishonour,andhisloyaltyintheface of the enormous risk of

his undertaking, dazzled bythegreatnessof theresults tobe achieved by this allianceso distasteful yet sonecessary. The dangers weregreat,butMaroolawasbrave;hismenseemedasrecklessastheir chief, and withLakamba’s aid successseemedassured.For the last fortnight

Almayerwasabsorbed in thepreparations, walkingamongst his workmen and

slaves in a kind of wakingtrance,wherepracticaldetailsas to the fitting out of theboats were mixed up withvivid dreams of untoldwealth, where the presentmiseryofburningsun,of themuddy andmalodorous riverbank disappeared in agorgeousvisionofasplendidfuture existence for himselfand Nina. He hardly sawNina during these last days,although the beloved

daughter was ever present inhis thoughts. He hardly tooknotice of Dain, whoseconstant presence in hishousehadbecomeamatterofcourse tohimnowtheywereconnectedbyacommunityofinterests. When meeting theyoung chief he gave him anabsent greeting and passedon, seemingly wishing toavoid him, bent uponforgettingthehatedrealityofthe present by absorbing

himself in his work, or elseby letting his imaginationsoar far above the tree-topsinto the great white cloudsaway to thewestward,wherethe paradise of Europe wasawaiting the future Easternmillionaire. And Maroola,now the bargain was struckand there was no morebusiness to be talked over,evidentlydidnotcare for thewhite man’s company. YetDain was always about the

house, but he seldom stayedlong by the riverside.On hisdaily visits to the whitemanthe Malay chief preferred tomakehiswayquietlythroughthe central passage of thehouse, and would come outinto the garden at the back,wherethefirewasburninginthe cooking shed, with therice kettle swinging over it,under the watchfulsupervisionofMrs.Almayer.Avoiding that shed, with its

blacksmokeandthewarblingofsoft,femininevoices,Dainwould turn to the left.There,on the edge of a bananaplantation, a clump of palmsand mango trees formed ashady spot, a few scatteredbushes giving it a certainseclusionintowhichonlytheserving women’s chatter oran occasional burst oflaughter could penetrate.Oncein,hewasinvisible;andhidden there, leaning against

the smooth trunk of a tallpalm, he waited withgleamingeyesandanassuredsmile to hear the faint rustleofdriedgrassunder the lightfootstepsofNina.Fromtheveryfirstmoment

whenhiseyesbeheldthis—tohim—perfectionoflovelinesshefeltinhisinmosthearttheconviction that shewould behis; he felt the subtle breathof mutual understandingpassing between their two

savagenatures,andhedidnotwant Mrs. Almayer’sencouraging smiles to takeevery opportunity ofapproaching the girl; andevery time he spoke to her,everytimehelookedintohereyes,Nina, althoughavertingher face, felt as if this bold-looking being who spokeburning words into herwilling ear was theembodiment of her fate, thecreature of her dreams—

reckless, ferocious, readywith flashing kriss for hisenemies, andwith passionateembraceforhisbeloved—theideal Malay chief of hermother’stradition.Sherecognisedwithathrill

of delicious fear themysterious consciousness ofher identity with that being.Listening to his words, itseemed to her she was bornonlythentoaknowledgeofanew existence, that her life

wascompleteonlywhennearhim, and she abandonedherselftoafeelingofdreamyhappiness, while with half-veiledfaceandinsilence—asbecame a Malay girl—shelistened to Dain’s wordsgiving up to her the wholetreasure of love and passionhis nature was capable ofwith all the unrestrainedenthusiasm of a man totallyuntrammelled by anyinfluence of civilised self-

discipline.And they used to pass

many a delicious and fastfleeting hour under themango trees behind thefriendlycurtainofbushes tillMrs. Almayer’s shrill voicegave the signal of unwillingseparation.Mrs.Almayerhadundertaken the easy task ofwatchingherhusband lestheshould interrupt the smoothcourseofherdaughter’s loveaffair, in which she took a

great and benignant interest.Shewas happy and proud tosee Dain’s infatuation,believing him to be a greatand powerful chief, and shefound also a gratification ofher mercenary instincts inDain’s open-handedgenerosity.Ontheeveofthedaywhen

Babalatchi’s suspicions wereconfirmed by oculardemonstration,DainandNinahad remained longer than

usual in their shady retreat.Only Almayer’s heavy stepon the verandah and hisquerulous clamour for fooddecidedMrs. Almayer to lifta warning cry. Maroolaleaped lightly over the lowbamboo fence, andmade hisway stealthily through thebananaplantationdowntothemuddy shore of the backcreek, while Nina walkedslowly towards the house toministertoherfather’swants,

as was her wont everyevening. Almayer felt happyenough that evening; thepreparations were nearlycompleted; to-morrow hewouldlaunchhisboats.Inhismind’s eye he saw the richprize in his grasp; and, withtinspooninhishand,hewasforgetting the plateful of ricebefore him in the fancifularrangementofsomesplendidbanquet to take place on hisarrival in Amsterdam. Nina,

reclining in the long chair,listened absently to the fewdisconnected words escapingfrom her father’s lips.Expedition! Gold! What didshe care for all that? But atthe name of Maroolamentioned by her father shewas all attention. Dain wasgoingdowntheriverwithhisbrig to-morrow to remainaway for a few days, saidAlmayer. It was veryannoying,thisdelay.Assoon

as Dain returned they wouldhave to start without loss oftime,for theriverwasrising.Hewould not be surprised ifa great flood was coming.Andhepushedawayhisplatewith an impatient gesture onrisingfromthetable.ButnowNina heard him not. Daingoing away! That’s why hehad ordered her, with thatquietmasterfulnessitwasherdelight to obey, tomeet himat break of day in Bulangi’s

creek.Was there a paddle inher canoe? she thought.Wasit ready? She would have tostart early—at four in themorning,inaveryfewhours.She rose from her chair,

thinking she would requirerestbeforethelongpullintheearlymorning.Thelampwasburningdimly,andherfather,tired with the day’s labour,wasalready inhishammock.Nina put the lamp out andpassed into a large room she

sharedwithhermotherontheleft of the central passage.Entering, she saw that Mrs.Almayerhaddesertedthepileofmatsservingherasbed inone corner of the room, andwas now bending over theopened lid of her largewoodenchest.Halfashellofcocoanut filled with oil,whereacottonragfloatedfora wick, stood on the floor,surroundingherwitha ruddyhalo of light shining through

theblackandodoroussmoke.Mrs. Almayer’s back wasbent, and her head andshoulders hidden in the deepbox.Herhands rummaged intheinterior,whereasoftclinkas of silver money could beheard. She did not notice atfirstherdaughter’sapproach,andNina,standingsilentlybyher, looked down on manylittle canvas bags ranged inthe bottom of the chest,wherefrom her mother

extracted handfuls of shiningguildersandMexicandollars,letting them stream slowlybackagain throughherclaw-like fingers. The music oftinkling silver seemed todelight her, and her eyessparkled with the reflectedgleam of freshly-mintedcoins. She was muttering toherself: “And this, and this,and yet this! Soon he willgivemore—asmuchmoreasIask.He isagreatRajah—a

SonofHeaven!Andshewillbe aRanee—hegave all thisfor her! Who ever gaveanything for me? I am aslave!AmI?Iamthemotherof a great Ranee!” Shebecame aware suddenly ofher daughter’s presence, andceased her droning, shuttingthe lid down violently; then,without rising from hercrouching position, shelookedupatthegirlstandingbywithavaguesmileonher

dreamyface.“You have seen. Have

you?” she shouted, shrilly.“Thatisallmine,andforyou.Itisnotenough!Hewillhaveto givemore before he takesyou away to the southernisland where his father isking.You hearme?You areworthmore,granddaughterofRajahs!More!More!”The sleepy voice of

Almayer was heard on theverandah recommending

silence. Mrs. Almayerextinguished the light andcrept into her corner of theroom.Nina laiddownonherback on a pile of soft mats,herhandsentwinedunderherhead, gazing through theshutterless hole, serving as awindowatthestarstwinklingon the black sky; she wasawaiting the timeof start forher appointed meeting-place.With quiet happiness shethoughtofthatmeetinginthe

great forest, far from allhuman eyes and sounds.Hersoul, lapsing again into thesavage mood, which thegeniusofcivilisationworkingby the hand of Mrs. Vinckcould never destroy,experiencedafeelingofprideandof some slight trouble atthe high value her worldly-wisemotherhadputuponherperson; but she rememberedthe expressive glances andwords of Dain, and,

tranquillised, she closed hereyes in a shiver of pleasantanticipation.There are some situations

where the barbarian and the,so-called, civilisedmanmeetuponthesameground.Itmaybe supposed that DainMaroola was notexceptionally delighted withhis prospective mother-in-law, nor that he actuallyapproved of that worthywoman’s appetite for shining

dollars. Yet on that foggymorning when Babalatchi,layingasidethecaresofstate,went to visit his fish-basketsintheBulangicreek,Maroolahad no misgivings,experienced no feelings butthose of impatience andlonging,whenpaddlingtotheeastsideoftheislandformingthe back-water in question.He hid his canoe in thebushes and strode rapidlyacross the islet, pushingwith

impatience through the twigsof heavy undergrowthintercrossed over his path.Frommotivesofprudencehewould not take his canoe tothe meeting-place, as Ninahaddone.Hehadleftitinthemain stream till his returnfrom the other side of theisland. The heavy warm fogwas closing rapidly roundhim,buthemanagedtocatcha fleeting glimpse of a lightaway to the left, proceeding

from Bulangi’s house. Thenhe could see nothing in thethickening vapour, and keptto the path only by a sort ofinstinct,whichalsoledhimtotheverypointontheoppositeshore he wished to reach. Agreat log had stranded there,at right angles to the bank,forming a kind of jettyagainst which the swiftlyflowing stream broke with aloud ripple.He stepped on itwith a quick but steady

motion, and in two stridesfound himself at the outerend, with the rush and swirlof the foaming water at hisfeet.Standing there alone, as if

separatedfromtheworld;theheavens,earth;theverywaterroaringunderhimswallowedup in the thick veil of themorning fog,hebreathedoutthenameofNinabeforehiminto the apparently limitlessspace, sure of being heard,

instinctively sure of thenearness of the delightfulcreature; certain of her beingawareofhisnearpresenceashewasawareofhers.The bow of Nina’s canoe

loomed up close to the log,canted high out of the waterby theweight of the sitter inthe stern. Maroola laid hishand on the stem and leapedlightlyin,givingitavigorousshove off. The light craft,obeying the new impulse,

cleared the log by a hair’sbreadth, and the river, withobedientcomplicity,swungitbroadside to the current, andboreitoffsilentlyandrapidlybetween the invisible banks.And once more Dain, at thefeetofNina,forgottheworld,felt himself carried awayhelpless by a great wave ofsupreme emotion, by a rushof joy, pride, and desire;understood once more withoverpowering certitude that

there was no life possiblewithout that being he heldclasped in his arms withpassionate strength in aprolongedembrace.Nina disengaged herself

gentlywithalowlaugh.“You will overturn the

boat,Dain,”shewhispered.He looked into her eyes

eagerly for a minute and lethergowithasigh,thenlyingdown in thecanoeheputhishead on her knees, gazing

upwards and stretching hisarmsbackwardstillhishandsmet round the girl’s waist.She bent over him, and,shaking her head, framedboth their faces in the fallinglocksofherlongblackhair.And so they drifted on, he

speaking with all the rudeeloquence of a savage naturegiving itself up withoutrestraint to an overmasteringpassion, she bending low tocatch the murmur of words

sweetertoherthanlifeitself.To those twonothingexistedthen outside the gunwales ofthenarrowandfragilecraft.Itwas their world, filled withtheir intense and all-absorbinglove.Theytooknoheedofthickeningmist,orofthebreezedyingawaybeforesunrise; they forgot theexistence of the great forestssurrounding them, of all thetropical nature awaiting theadventofthesuninasolemn

andimpressivesilence.Over the low river-mist

hiding the boat with itsfreight of young passionatelife and all-forgetfulhappiness, the stars paled,and a silvery-grey tint creptover the sky from theeastward. There was not abreathofwind,notarustleofstirring leaf, not a splash ofleaping fish to disturb theserene repose of all livingthings on the banks of the

great river. Earth, river, andsky were wrapped up in adeep sleep, from which itseemed there would be nowaking. All the seething lifeand movement of tropicalnature seemed concentratedin the ardent eyes, in thetumultuously beating heartsof the two beings drifting inthe canoe, under the whitecanopy of mist, over thesmoothsurfaceoftheriver.Suddenly a great sheaf of

yellow rays shot upwardsfrombehindtheblackcurtainof trees lining the banks ofthe Pantai. The stars wentout; the little black clouds atthe zenith glowed for amoment with crimson tints,and the thickmist, stirred bythegentlebreeze, the sighofwakingnature,whirledroundand broke into fantasticallytorn pieces, disclosing thewrinkled surface of the riversparklinginthebroadlightof

day. Great flocks of whitebirds wheeled screamingabove the swaying tree-tops.Thesunhadrisenontheeastcoast.Dainwasthefirsttoreturn

to the cares of everyday life.He rose and glanced rapidlyup and down the river. Hiseye detected Babalatchi’sboatastern,andanothersmallblack speck on the glitteringwater, which was Taminah’scanoe. He moved cautiously

forward, and, kneeling, tookupapaddle;Ninaatthesterntook hers. They bent theirbodies to thework, throwingup thewater at every stroke,and the small craft wentswiftly ahead, leaving anarrow wake fringed with alace-like border ofwhite andgleaming foam. Withoutturninghishead,Dainspoke.“Somebody behind us,

Nina. We must not let himgain. I think he is too far to

recogniseus.”“Somebody before us

also,” panted out Nina,withoutceasingtopaddle.“I think I know,” rejoined

Dain. “The sun shines overthere,butIfancyitisthegirlTaminah. She comes downeverymorning tomy brig tosell cakes—stays often allday. It does notmatter; steermore into the bank;wemustget under the bushes. Mycanoe is hidden not far from

here.”As he spoke his eyes

watched the broad-leavednipas which they werebrushing in their swift andsilentcourse.“Look out, Nina,” he said

at last; “there, where thewater palms end and thetwigs hang down under theleaningtree.Steerforthebiggreenbranch.”He stood up attentive, and

the boat drifted slowly in

shore, Nina guiding it by agentle and skilful movementof her paddle. When nearenoughDain laidholdof thebig branch, and leaning backshot the canoe under a lowgreen archway of thicklymattedcreepersgivingaccesstoaminiaturebayformedbythe caving in of the bankduring the last great flood.His own boat was thereanchored by a stone, and hestepped into it, keeping his

hand on the gunwale ofNina’s canoe. In a momentthe two little nutshells withtheir occupants floatedquietlysidebyside,reflectedbytheblackwaterinthedimlight struggling through ahighcanopyofdensefoliage;while above, away up in thebroad day, flamed immensered blossoms sending downon their heads a shower ofgreat dew-sparkling petalsthat descended rotating

slowly in a continuous andperfumed stream; and overthem, under them, in thesleeping water; all aroundthem in a ring of luxuriantvegetation bathed in thewarmairchargedwithstrongand harsh perfumes, theintense work of tropicalnature went on: plantsshooting upward, entwined,interlaced in inextricableconfusion, climbing madlyand brutally over each other

in the terrible silence of adesperate struggle towardsthelife-givingsunshineabove—as if struck with suddenhorrorattheseethingmassofcorruptionbelow,atthedeathand decay from which theysprang.“Wemust part now,” said

Dain, after a long silence.“You must return at once,Nina. Iwillwait till the brigdrifts down here, and shallgetonboardthen.”

“And will you be longaway, Dain?” askedNina, inalowvoice.“Long!” exclaimed Dain.

“Would a man willinglyremain long in a dark place?When I am not near you,Nina, Iam likeaman that isblind. What is life to mewithoutlight?”Ninaleanedover,andwith

aproudandhappysmiletookDain’s face between herhands, looking into his eyes

with a fond yet questioninggaze. Apparently she foundthere the confirmation of thewords just said, for a feelingof grateful security lightenedfor her the weight of sorrowat the hour of parting. Shebelieved that he, thedescendant of many greatRajahs, the son of a greatchief, the master of life anddeath, knew the sunshine oflife only in her presence.Animmense wave of gratitude

and love welled forth out ofher heart towards him. Howcould she make an outwardandvisiblesignofallshefeltfor the man who had filledher heart with so much joyand so much pride? And inthe great tumult of passion,likeaflashoflightningcameto her the reminiscence ofthat despised and almostforgotten civilisation she hadonlyglancedatinherdaysofrestraint, of sorrow, and of

anger. In the cold ashes ofthat hateful and miserablepast she would find the signoflove, thefittingexpressionof the boundless felicity ofthe present, the pledge of abright and splendid future.She threw her arms aroundDain’s neck and pressed herlips to his in a long andburning kiss. He closed hiseyes,surprisedandfrightenedat the storm raised in hisbreast by the strange and to

him hitherto unknowncontact, and long after Ninahadpushedhercanoeintotheriverheremainedmotionless,without daring to open hiseyes, afraid to lose thesensation of intoxicatingdelight he had tasted for thefirsttime.Now he wanted but

immortality,hethought,tobethe equal of gods, and thecreature that could open sothegatesofparadisemustbe

his—soon would be his forever!Heopenedhiseyesintime

toseethroughthearchwayofcreepers thebowsofhisbrigcomeslowlyintoview,asthevesseldriftedpaston itswaydown the river. He must goonboardnow,hethought;yethewaslothtoleavetheplacewherehehadlearnedtoknowwhathappinessmeant.“Timeyet. Let them go,” hemuttered to himself; and he

closed his eyes again underthe red shower of scentedpetals, trying to recall thescenewith all its delight andallitsfear.Hemusthavebeenable to

joinhisbrigintime,afterall,and found much occupationoutside,foritwasinvainthatAlmayer looked for hisfriend’s speedy return. Thelowerreachoftheriverwherehesooftenandsoimpatientlydirected his eyes remained

deserted, save for the rapidflittingofsomefishingcanoe;but down the upper reachescameblackcloudsandheavyshowers heralding the finalsetting inof the rainy seasonwith its thunderstorms andgreat floodsmaking the riveralmost impossible of ascentfornativecanoes.Almayer, strolling along

themuddybeachbetweenhishouses,watched uneasily theriver rising inch by inch,

creeping slowlynearer to theboats, now ready and hauledupinarowunderthecoverofdripping Kajang-mats.Fortune seemed to elude hisgrasp,andinhiswearytrampbackwards and forwardsunder the steady rain fallingfrom the loweringsky,a sortof despairing indifferencetookpossessionofhim.Whatdid it matter? It was just hisluck! Those two infernalsavages, Lakamba and Dain,

induced him, with theirpromisesofhelp,tospendhislastdollarinthefittingoutofboats, and now one of themwasgonesomewhere,andtheother shut up in his stockadewould give no sign of life.No, not even the scoundrellyBabalatchi, thoughtAlmayer,would show his face nearhim, now they had sold himall the rice, brass gongs, andcloth necessary for hisexpedition.Theyhadhisvery

last coin, and did not carewhether he went or stayed.And with a gesture ofabandoned discouragementAlmayer would climb upslowly to theverandahofhisnew house to get out of therain,andleaningonthefrontrail with his head sunkbetween his shoulders hewouldabandonhimselftothecurrent of bitter thoughts,obliviousoftheflightoftimeandthepangsofhunger,deaf

to the shrill cries of hiswifecalling him to the eveningmeal.When, roused fromhissad meditations by the firstroll of the eveningthunderstorm, he stumbledslowly towards theglimmering light of his oldhouse, his half-dead hopemade his ears preternaturallyacute to any sound on theriver. Several nights insuccession he had heard thesplash of paddles and had

seen the indistinct form of aboat, but when hailing theshadowyapparition,hisheartbounding with sudden hopeof hearing Dain’s voice, hewas disappointed each timeby the sulky answerconveying to him theintelligence that the Arabswereontheriver,boundonavisit to the home-stayingLakamba. This caused himmany sleepless nights, spentin speculating upon the kind

of villainy those estimablepersonages were hatchingnow. At last, when all hopeseemed dead, he wasoverjoyed on hearing Dain’svoice;butDainalsoappearedveryanxioustoseeLakamba,and Almayer felt uneasyowing to a deep andineradicabledistrustastothatruler’s disposition towardshimself. Still, Dain hadreturned at last. Evidently hemeant tokeep tohisbargain.

Hope revived, and that nightAlmayersleptsoundly,whileNinawatched theangryriverunder the lash of thethunderstorm sweepingonwardtowardsthesea.

6Chapter

Dainwasnotlongincrossingthe river after leavingAlmayer. He landed at thewater-gate of the stockadeenclosingthegroupofhouseswhich composed the

residence of the Rajah ofSambir. Evidently somebodywas expected there, for thegatewasopen,andmenwithtorcheswerereadytoprecedethe visitor up the inclinedplaneofplanksleadingtothelargesthousewhereLakambaactually resided, and whereall the business of state wasinvariably transacted. Theother buildings within theenclosure served only toaccommodate the numerous

household and the wives oftheruler.Lakamba’sownhousewas

a strong structure of solidplanks, raised on high piles,with a verandah of splitbamboossurroundingitonallsides; thewholewascoveredin by an immensely high-pitched roof of palm-leaves,resting on beams blackenedby the smoke of manytorches.Thebuildingstoodparallel

to the river, one of its longsidesfacingthewater-gateofthe stockade. There was adoorintheshortsidelookingup the river, and the inclinedplank-way led straight fromthe gate to that door. By theuncertain light of smokytorches, Dain noticed thevague outlines of a group ofarmed men in the darkshadows to his right. FromthatgroupBabalatchisteppedforwardtoopenthedoor,and

Dain entered the audiencechamber of the Rajah’sresidence.Aboutone-thirdofthe house was curtained off,by heavy stuff of Europeanmanufacture, for thatpurpose; close to the curtainthere was a big arm-chair ofsome black wood, muchcarved, andbefore it a roughdeal table. Otherwise theroomwasonlyfurnishedwithmats in great profusion. Tothe left of the entrance stood

a rude arm-rack, with threerifles with fixed bayonets init.Bythewall,intheshadow,the body-guard of Lakamba—all friends or relations—slept in a confused heap ofbrown arms, legs, andmulti-coloured garments, fromwhence issued an occasionalsnore or a subdued groan ofsome uneasy sleeper. AnEuropean lamp with a greenshade standing on the tablemade all this indistinctly

visibletoDain.“Youarewelcome toyour

rest here,” said Babalatchi,looking at Daininterrogatively.“Imustspeak to theRajah

atonce,”answeredDain.Babalatchi made a gesture

of assent, and, turning to thebrass gong suspended underthe arm-rack, struck twosharpblows.The ear-splitting din woke

up the guard. The snores

ceased; outstretched legswere drawn in; the wholeheap moved, and slowlyresolved itself into individualforms, with much yawningand rubbing of sleepy eyes;behind thecurtains therewasa burst of feminine chatter;then the bass voice ofLakambawasheard.“IsthattheArabtrader?”“No, Tuan,” answered

Babalatchi; “Dain hasreturnedatlast.Heisherefor

animportanttalk,bitcharra—ifyoumercifullyconsent.”Evidently Lakamba’s

mercy went so far—for in ashortwhilehecameoutfrombehindthecurtain—butitdidnot go to the length ofinducing him to make anextensive toilet. A short redsarong tightened hastilyround his hips was his onlygarment. The merciful rulerof Sambir looked sleepy andrather sulky. He sat in the

arm-chair, his knees wellapart,hiselbowsonthearm-rests, his chin on his breast,breathingheavilyandwaitingmalevolentlyforDaintoopentheimportanttalk.But Dain did not seem

anxioustobegin.Hedirectedhis gaze towards Babalatchi,squatting comfortably at thefeet of his master, andremained silent with aslightly bent head as if inattentive expectation of

comingwordsofwisdom.Babalatchi coughed

discreetly, and, leaningforward, pushed over a fewmats for Dain to sit upon,then lifting up his squeakyvoice he assured him witheager volubility ofeverybody’s delight at thislong-looked-for return. Hisheart had hungered for thesight of Dain’s face, and hisears were withering for thewant of the refreshing sound

of his voice. Everybody’shearts and ears were in thesame sad predicament,accordingtoBabalatchi,asheindicated with a sweepinggesture the other bankof theriver where the settlementslumbered peacefully,unconscious of the great joyawaiting it on the morrowwhen Dain’s presenceamongst them would bedisclosed. “For”—went onBabalatchi—“what is the joy

ofapoormanifnottheopenhand of a generous trader orofagreat—”Here he checked himself

abruptly with a calculatedembarrassment of manner,andhisrovingeyesoughtthefloor, while an apologeticsmiledwelt foramomentonhis misshapen lips. Once ortwice during this openingspeechanamusedexpressionflitted across Dain’s face,soontogiveway,however,to

an appearance of graveconcern.OnLakamba’sbrowa heavy frown had settled,andhislipsmovedangrilyashe listened to his PrimeMinister’s oratory. In thesilence that fell upon theroomwhenBabalatchiceasedspeaking arose a chorus ofvariedsnoresfromthecornerwhere the body-guard hadresumed their interruptedslumbers, but the distantrumbleofthunderfillingthen

Nina’s heart withapprehensionforthesafetyofherloverpassedunheededbythose three men intent eachon their own purposes, forlifeordeath.After a short silence,

Babalatchi, discarding nowthe flowers of politeeloquence, spoke again, butinshortandhurriedsentencesandinalowvoice.Theyhadbeen very uneasy. Why didDain remain so long absent?

The men dwelling on thelower reaches of the riverheard the reportsofbiggunsand saw a fire-ship of theDutchamongst the islandsofthe estuary. So they wereanxious. Rumours of adisaster had reached Abdullaa few days ago, and sincethen they had been waitingfor Dain’s return under theapprehension of somemisfortune.Fordaystheyhadclosed their eyes in fear, and

wokeupalarmed,andwalkedabroad trembling, like menbefore an enemy.And all onaccount of Dain. Would henot allay their fears for hissafety, not for themselves?Theywerequiet and faithful,and devoted to the greatRajah in Batavia—may hisfate lead him ever to victoryfor the joy and profit of hisservants! “And here,” wentonBabalatchi, “Lakambamymasterwasgettingthininhis

anxiety for the trader he hadtaken under his protection;andsowasAbdulla,forwhatwouldwickedmennotsay ifperchance—”“Be silent, fool!” growled

Lakamba,angrily.Babalatchi subsided into

silencewithasatisfiedsmile,while Dain, who had beenwatchinghimasiffascinated,turned with a sigh of relieftowards the ruler of Sambir.Lakamba did notmove, and,

without raising his head,lookedatDainfromunderhiseyebrows, breathing audibly,with pouted lips, in an air ofgeneraldiscontent.“Speak! O Dain!” he said

atlast.“Wehaveheardmanyrumours. Many nights insuccession has my friendReshid come here with badtidings. News travels fastalongthecoast.Buttheymaybeuntrue;therearemoreliesinmen’smouthsinthesedays

thanwhenIwasyoung,butIam not easier to deceivenow.”“All my words are true,”

saidDain, carelessly. “Ifyouwanttoknowwhatbefellmybrig,thenlearnthatitisinthehands of the Dutch. Believeme,Rajah,”hewenton,withsudden energy, “the OrangBlanda have good friends inSambir, or elsehowdid theyknowIwascomingthence?”LakambagaveDainashort

andhostileglance.Babalatchirosequietly,and,goingtothearm-rack, struck the gongviolently.Outsidethedoortherewas

a shuffle of bare feet; inside,the guard woke up and satstaringinsleepysurprise.“Yes,youfaithfulfriendof

the white Rajah,” went onDain, scornfully, turning toBabalatchi,whohadreturnedtohisplace,“Ihaveescaped,andIamheretogladdenyour

heart.When I saw theDutchship I ran the brig inside thereefs and put her ashore.They did not dare to followwiththeship,sotheysenttheboats. We took to ours andtriedtogetaway,buttheshipdropped fireballs at us, andkilledmanyofmymen.ButIam left, O Babalatchi! TheDutcharecominghere.Theyare seeking forme.They arecoming to ask their faithfulfriendLakambaandhisslave

Babalatchi.Rejoice!”But neither of his hearers

appeared to be in a joyfulmood. Lakamba had put oneleg over his knee, and wentongentlyscratchingitwithameditative air, whileBabalatchi, sitting cross-legged, seemed suddenly tobecome smaller and verylimp, staring straight beforehim vacantly. The guardevinced some interest in theproceedings, stretching

themselves full length on thematstobenearerthespeaker.Oneof themgotupandnowstoodleaningagainstthearm-rack, playing absently withthefringesofhissword-hilt.Dain waited till the crash

of thunder had died away indistant mutterings before hespokeagain.“Areyoudumb,Orulerof

Sambir, or is the son of agreatRajahunworthyofyournotice? I am come here to

seek refugeand towarnyou,and want to know what youintenddoing.”“Youcameherebecauseof

the white man’s daughter,”retorted Lakamba, quickly.“Your refuge was with yourfather, theRajah ofBali, theSon of Heaven, the ‘AnakAgong’himself.WhatamItoprotect great princes? Onlyyesterday I planted rice in aburntclearing;to-dayyousayIholdyourlifeinmyhand.”

Babalatchi glanced at hismaster. “No man can escapehis fate,” he murmuredpiously. “When love enters aman’shearthe is likeachild—withoutanyunderstanding.Be merciful, Lakamba,” headded,twitchingthecorneroftheRajah’ssarongwarningly.Lakamba snatched away

theskirtofthesarongangrily.Under the dawningcomprehension of intolerableembarrassments caused by

Dain’s return to Sambir hebegantolosesuchcomposureashehadbeen,tillthen,ableto maintain; and now heraisedhisvoice loudlyabovethewhistlingofthewindandthe patter of rain on the roofin the hard squall passingoverthehouse.“You came here first as a

trader with sweet words andgreat promises, askingme tolooktheotherwaywhileyouworkedyourwillonthewhite

man there. And I did. Whatdo you want now? When Iwas young I fought. Now Iamold,andwantpeace. It iseasier for me to have youkilledthantofighttheDutch.Itisbetterforme.”Thesquallhadnowpassed,

and, in the short stillness ofthelullinthestorm,Lakambarepeated softly, as if tohimself, “Much easier.Muchbetter.”Dain did not seem greatly

discomposed by the Rajah’sthreatening words. WhileLakamba was speaking hehadglancedoncerapidlyoverhis shoulder, just to makesure that there was nobodybehindhim,and,tranquillisedin that respect, he hadextractedasiri-boxoutofthefolds of his waist-cloth, andwas wrapping carefully thelittle bit of betel-nut and asmall pinch of lime in thegreen leaf tendered him

politely by the watchfulBabalatchi. He accepted thisas a peace-offering from thesilent statesman—a kind ofmute protest against hismaster’s undiplomaticviolence,andasanomenofapossible understanding to bearrivedatyet.OtherwiseDainwas not uneasy. Althoughrecognising the justice ofLakamba’s surmise that hehad come back to Sambironlyforthesakeofthewhite

man’s daughter, yet he wasnotconsciousofanychildishlack of understanding, assuggested by Babalatchi. Infact, Dain knew very wellthatLakambawastoodeeplyimplicated in the gunpowdersmuggling to care for aninvestigation the Dutchauthorities into that matter.When sent off by his father,the independent Rajah ofBali, at the time when thehostilitiesbetweenDutchand

Malays threatened to spreadfromSumatraoverthewholearchipelago, Dain had foundall thebig tradersdeaf tohisguardedproposals,andabovethe temptation of the greatprices he was ready to givefor gunpowder. He went toSambir as a last and almosthopeless resort, having heardinMacassarofthewhitemanthere, and of the regularsteamer trading fromSingapore—allured also by

the fact that there was noDutch resident on the river,which would make thingseasier, no doubt. His hopesgot nearly wrecked againstthe stubborn loyalty ofLakamba arising from well-understood self-interest; butat last the young man’sgenerosity, his persuasiveenthusiasm, the prestige ofhis father’s great name,overpowered the prudenthesitation of the ruler of

Sambir.Lakambawouldhavenothing to do himself withany illegal traffic. He alsoobjected to the Arabs beingmade use of in that matter;but he suggested Almayer,saying that he was a weakman easily persuaded, andthat his friend, the Englishcaptain of the steamer, couldbe made very useful—verylikely evenwould join in thebusiness, smuggling thepowder in the steamer

without Abdulla’sknowledge.ThereagainDainmet in Almayer withunexpected resistance;Lakamba had to sendBabalatchi over with thesolemn promise that his eyeswould be shut in friendshipfor the white man, Dainpaying for the promise andthe friendship in good silverguilders of the hated OrangBlanda. Almayer, at lastconsenting, said the powder

would be obtained, but DainmusttrusthimwithdollarstosendtoSingaporeinpaymentfor it.Hewould induceFordto buy and smuggle it in thesteameronboardthebrig.Hedid not want any money forhimselfoutofthetransaction,butDainmusthelphiminhisgreat enterprise after sendingoff the brig. Almayer hadexplained to Dain that hecould not trust Lakambaaloneinthatmatter;hewould

be afraid of losing histreasure and his life throughthecupidityof theRajah;yettheRajahhad tobe told,andinsisted on taking a share inthat operation, or else hiseyes would remain shut nolonger. To this Almayer hadtosubmit.HadDainnotseenNinahewouldhaveprobablyrefusedtoengagehimselfandhis men in the projectedexpedition toGunongMas—the mountain of gold. As it

was he intended to returnwith half of hismen as soonas the brig was clear of thereefs,butthepersistentchasegiven him by the Dutchfrigatehad forcedhim to runsouthandultimatelytowreckand destroy his vessel inorder to preserve his libertyorperhapsevenhis life.Yes,he had come back to SambirforNina,althoughawarethattheDutchwouldlookforhimthere, but he had also

calculated his chances ofsafety in Lakamba’s hands.For all his ferocious talk, themerciful ruler would not killhim,forhehadlongagobeenimpressed with the notionthatDainpossessedthesecretof the white man’s treasure;neitherwouldhegivehimuptotheDutch,forfearofsomefatal disclosure of complicityin the treasonable trade. SoDain felt tolerably secure ashe sat meditating quietly his

answer to the Rajah’sbloodthirsty speech. Yes, hewould point out to him theaspect of his position shouldhe—Dain—fallintothehandsof the Dutch and should hespeak the truth. He wouldhave nothing more to losethen,andhewouldspeakthetruth.And ifhedid return toSambir, disturbing therebyLakamba’s peace of mind,what then? He came to lookafterhisproperty.Didhenot

pour a stream of silver intoMrs. Almayer’s greedy lap?He had paid, for the girl, aprice worthy of a greatprince, although unworthy ofthat delightfully maddeningcreature for whom hisuntamed soul longed in anintensity of desire far moretormenting than the sharpestpain. He wanted hishappiness.HehadtherighttobeinSambir.He rose, and, approaching

the table, leaned both hiselbows on it; Lakambaresponsivelyedgedhis seat alittle closer,whileBabalatchiscrambled to his feet andthrust his inquisitive headbetween his master’s andDain’s. They interchangedtheir ideas rapidly, speakinginwhispers into each other’sfaces, very close now, Dainsuggesting, Lakambacontradicting, Babalatchiconciliating and anxious in

his vivid apprehension ofcomingdifficulties.Hespokemost, whispering earnestly,turning his head slowly fromsidetosidesoastobringhissolitaryeyetobearuponeachof his interlocutors in turn.Why should there be strife?said he. Let Tuan Dain,whomhelovedonlylessthanhis master, go trustfully intohiding. There were manyplaces for that. Bulangi’shouse away in the clearing

wasbest.Bulangiwasasafeman.In

the network of crookedchannelsnowhitemancouldfindhisway.Whitemenwerestrong, but very foolish. Itwasundesirabletofightthem,butdeceptionwaseasy.Theywere like silly women—theydid not know the use ofreason, and he was a matchfor any of them—went onBabalatchi, with all theconfidence of deficient

experience. Probably theDutch would seek Almayer.Maybetheywouldtakeawaytheircountrymaniftheyweresuspicious of him. Thatwould be good. After theDutch went away Lakambaand Dain would get thetreasure without any trouble,and there would be onepersonlesstoshareit.Didhenotspeakwisdom?WillTuanDain go to Bulangi’s housetill the danger is over, go at

once?Dain accepted this

suggestion of going intohidingwithacertainsenseofconferring a favour uponLakamba and the anxiousstatesman, but he met theproposal of going at oncewith a decided no, lookingBabalatchi meaningly in theeye.The statesman sighed asa man accepting theinevitable would do, andpointed silently towards the

other bank of the river.Dainbenthisheadslowly.“Yes,Iamgoingthere,”he

said.“Before the day comes?”

askedBabalatchi.“I am going there now,”

answered Dain, decisively.“The Orang Blanda will notbe here before to-morrownight,perhaps,andImusttellAlmayer of ourarrangements.”“No, Tuan. No; say

nothing,” protestedBabalatchi. “I will go overmyselfat sunriseand lethimknow.”“I will see,” said Dain,

preparingtogo.The thunderstorm was

recommencing outside, theheavy clouds hanging lowoverheadnow.There was a constant

rumble of distant thunderpunctuated by the nearersharp crashes, and in the

continuous play of bluelightning the woods and therivershowedfitfully,withallthe elusive distinctness ofdetailcharacteristicofsuchascene.OutsidethedooroftheRajah’s house Dain andBabalatchi stood on theshaking verandah as if dazedand stunned by the violenceofthestorm.Theystoodthereamongst the cowering formsof the Rajah’s slaves andretainersseekingshelterfrom

the rain, and Dain calledaloud to his boatmen, whorespondedwithanunanimous“Ada! Tuan!” while theylookeduneasilyattheriver.“This is a great flood!”

shouted Babalatchi intoDain’sear.“Theriverisveryangry. Look! Look at thedriftinglogs!Canyougo?”Dainglanceddoubtfullyon

the livid expanse of seethingwater bounded far away onthe other side by the narrow

black line of the forests.Suddenly, in a vivid whiteflash, the low point of landwith the bending trees on itandAlmayer’s house, leapedinto view, flickered anddisappeared. Dain pushedBabalatchi aside and randown to the water-gatefollowed by his shiveringboatmen.Babalatchi backed slowly

in and closed the door, thenturned round and looked

silently upon Lakamba. TheRajahsatstill,glaringstonilyupon the table, andBabalatchigazedcuriouslyatthe perplexed mood of theman he had served so manyyears through good and evilfortune. No doubt the one-eyedstatesmanfeltwithinhissavage and muchsophisticated breast theunwonted feelings ofsympathy with, and perhapseven pity for, the man he

called his master. From thesafepositionofaconfidentialadviser, he could, in the dimvista of past years, seehimself—a casual cut-throat—finding shelter under thatman’sroofinthemodestrice-clearing of early beginnings.Then came a long period ofunbroken success, of wisecounsels, and deep plottingsresolutely carried out by thefearless Lakamba, till thewhole east coast from Poulo

LauttoTanjongBatulistenedto Babalatchi’s wisdomspeaking through the mouthof the ruler of Sambir. Inthose long years how manydangers escaped, how manyenemies bravely faced, howmanywhitemensuccessfullycircumvented! And now helooked upon the result of somanyyearsofpatienttoil:thefearless Lakamba cowed bythe shadow of an impendingtrouble. The ruler was

growing old, and Babalatchi,awareofanuneasyfeelingatthe pit of his stomach, putboth his hands there with asuddenly vivid and sadperceptionof the fact thathehimselfwasgrowingoldtoo;that the time of recklessdaring was past for both ofthem, and that they had toseek refuge in prudentcunning.Theywantedpeace;theyweredisposedtoreform;they were ready even to

retrench, so as to have thewherewithal to bribe the evildays away, if bribed awaythey could be. Babalatchisighed for the second timethatnightashesquattedagainat his master’s feet andtendered him his betel-nutbox in mute sympathy. Andthey sat there in close yetsilentcommunionofbetel-nutchewers, moving their jawsslowly, expectoratingdecorously into the wide-

mouthed brass vessel theypassed to one another, andlistening to the awful din ofthebattlingelementsoutside.“There is a very great

flood,” remarked Babalatchi,sadly.“Yes,”saidLakamba.“Did

Daingo?”“He went, Tuan. He ran

down to the river like amanpossessed of the Sheitanhimself.”There was another long

pause.“He may get drowned,”

suggested Lakamba at last,withsomeshowofinterest.“The floating logs are

many,” answered Babalatchi,“but he is a good swimmer,”headdedlanguidly.“He ought to live,” said

Lakamba; “he knows wherethetreasureis.”Babalatchi assented with

an ill-humoured grunt. Hiswantofsuccessinpenetrating

the white man’s secret as tothe locality where the goldwas to be found was a sorepoint with the statesman ofSambir, as the onlyconspicuous failure in anotherwisebrilliantcareer.A great peace had now

succeeded the turmoil of thestorm.Only the little belatedclouds, which hurried pastoverheadtocatchupthemainbody flashing silently in thedistance, sent down short

showers that pattered softlywith a soothinghissover thepalm-leafroof.Lakamba roused himself

from his apathy with anappearanceofhavinggraspedthesituationatlast.“Babalatchi,” he called

briskly, giving him a slightkick.“Ada Tuan! I am

listening.”“IftheOrangBlandacome

here, Babalatchi, and take

AlmayertoBataviatopunishhim for smugglinggunpowder, what will he do,youthink?”“Idonotknow,Tuan.”“You are a fool,”

commented Lakamba,exultingly.“Hewill tell themwherethetreasureis,soastofindmercy.Hewill.”Babalatchilookedupathis

master and nodded his headwith by no means a joyfulsurprise. He had not thought

of this; there was a newcomplication.“Almayer must die,” said

Lakamba, decisively, “tomakeoursecretsafe.Hemustdie quietly, Babalatchi. Youmustdoit.”Babalatchi assented, and

rosewearily tohis feet. “To-morrow?”heasked.“Yes; before the Dutch

come. He drinks muchcoffee,” answered Lakamba,withseemingirrelevancy.

Babalatchi stretchedhimself yawning, butLakamba, in the flatteringconsciousness of a knottyproblem solved by his ownunaided intellectual efforts,grewsuddenlyverywakeful.“Babalatchi,”hesaidtothe

exhausted statesman, “fetchthe box of music the whitecaptain gave me. I cannotsleep.”At this order a deep shade

of melancholy settled upon

Babalatchi’s features. Hewent reluctantly behind thecurtain and soon reappearedcarrying in his arms a smallhand-organ, which he putdownonthetablewithanairof deep dejection. Lakambasettledhimselfcomfortablyinhisarm-chair.“Turn, Babalatchi, turn,”

he murmured, with closedeyes.Babalatchi’s hand grasped

thehandlewiththeenergyof

despair,andasheturned, thedeep gloom on hiscountenance changed into anexpression of hopelessresignation.Throughtheopenshutter the notes of Verdi’smusicfloatedoutonthegreatsilence over the river andforest.Lakambalistenedwithclosed eyes and a delightedsmile; Babalatchi turned, attimesdozingoffandswayingover, then catching himselfupinagreatfrightwithafew

quick turns of the handle.Nature slept in an exhaustedrepose after the fierceturmoil, while under theunsteady hand of thestatesman of Sambir theTrovatore fitfully wept,wailed,andbadegood-byetohis Leonore again and againinamournfulroundoftearfulandendlessiteration.

7Chapter

The bright sunshine of theclear mistless morning, afterthe stormynight, flooded themain path of the settlementleadingfromthelowshoreofthePantaibranchof theriver

to the gate of Abdulla’scompound. The path wasdeserted this morning; itstretched its dark yellowsurface, hard beaten by thetramp of many bare feet,between the clusters of palmtrees,whosetalltrunksbarredit with strong black lines atirregular intervals, while thenewly risen sun threw theshadows of their leafy headsfarawayovertheroofsofthebuildings lining the river,

evenovertheriveritselfasitflowed swiftly and silentlypast the deserted houses. Forthehousesweredesertedtoo.On the narrow strip oftrodden grass interveningbetweentheiropendoorsandthe road, the morning firessmouldered untended,sending thin fluted columnsof smoke into the cool air,and spreading the thinnestveil of mysterious blue hazeoverthesunlitsolitudeofthe

settlement. Almayer, just outof his hammock, gazedsleepily at the unwontedappearance of Sambir,wondering vaguely at theabsence of life. His ownhouse was very quiet; hecould not hear his wife’svoice, nor the sound ofNina’s footsteps in the bigroom, opening on theverandah,whichhecalledhissitting-room,whenever,inthecompany of white men, he

wishedtoasserthisclaimstothe commonplace decenciesof civilisation. Nobody eversat there; there was nothingthere to sit upon, for Mrs.Almayer in her savagemoods, when excited by thereminiscencesof thepiraticalperiodofherlife,hadtornoffthe curtains to make sarongsfor the slave-girls, and hadburnt the showy furniturepiecemeal tocook the familyrice. But Almayer was not

thinkingofhisfurniturenow.He was thinking of Dain’sreturn, of Dain’s nocturnalinterview with Lakamba, ofits possible influence on hislong-matured plans, nownearing the period of theirexecution. He was alsouneasyat thenon-appearanceof Dain who had promisedhim an early visit. “Thefellow had plenty of time tocross the river,” he mused,“andtherewassomuchtobe

done to-day. The settling ofdetails for the early start onthemorrow; the launchingofthe boats; the thousand andonefinishingtouches.Fortheexpedition must startcomplete, nothing should beforgotten,nothingshould—”Thesenseoftheunwonted

solitude grew upon himsuddenly, and in the unusualsilence he caught himselflonging even for the usuallyunwelcome sound of his

wife’s voice to break theoppressive stillness whichseemed, to his frightenedfancy, to portend the adventof some new misfortune.“What has happened?” hemuttered half aloud, as heshuffled in his imperfectlyadjusted slippers towards thebalustrade of the verandah.“Is everybody asleep ordead?”The settlement was alive

andverymuchawake.Itwas

awake ever since the earlybreak of day, when MahmatBanjer, in a fit ofunheard-ofenergy, arose and, taking uphis hatchet, stepped over thesleeping forms of his twowives and walked shiveringto the water’s edge to makesure that the new house hewas building had not floatedawayduringthenight.The housewas being built

by the enterprising Mahmaton a large raft, and he had

securelymooreditjustinsidethemuddypointoflandatthejunction of the two branchesof the Pantai so as to be outof the way of drifting logsthatwouldnodoubtstrandonthe point during the freshet.Mahmat walked through thewet grass saying bourrouh,and cursing softly to himselfthe hard necessities of activelife that drove him from hiswarm couch into the cold ofthe morning. A glance

showed him that his housewas still there, and hecongratulated himself on hisforesight in hauling it out ofharm’s way, for theincreasinglightshowedhimaconfusedwrack of drift-logs,half-stranded on the muddyflat, interlocked into ashapeless raft by theirbranches, tossing to and froand grinding together in theeddy caused by the meetingcurrents of the two branches

of the river.Mahmat walkeddown to the water’s edge toexamine the rattan mooringsof his house just as the suncleared the treesof theforeston the opposite shore.As hebent over the fastenings heglanced again carelessly atthe unquiet jumble of logsandsawtheresomething thatcaused him to drop hishatchetandstandup,shadinghis eyes with his hand fromthe rays of the rising sun. It

was something red, and thelogs rolled over it, at timesclosing round it, sometimeshiding it. It looked to him atfirst like a strip of red cloth.The next moment Mahmathadmade it out and raised agreatshout.“Ah ya! There!” yelled

Mahmat. “There’s a manamongstthelogs.”Heputthepalms of his hand to his lipsand shouted, enunciatingdistinctly, his face turned

towards the settlement:“There’s a body of aman inthe river! Come and see! Adead—stranger!”The women of the nearest

house were already outsidekindlingthefiresandhuskingthe morning rice. They tookup the cry shrilly, and ittravelled so from house tohouse, dying away in thedistance.Themenrushedoutexcited but silent, and rantowards the muddy point

where the unconscious logstossed and ground andbumped and rolled over thedead strangerwith the stupidpersistency of inanimatethings.Thewomen followed,neglecting their domesticduties and disregarding thepossibilities of domesticdiscontent, while groups ofchildren brought up the rear,warbling joyously, in thedelight of unexpectedexcitement.

Almayer called aloud forhis wife and daughter, butreceiving no response, stoodlistening intently. Themurmurofthecrowdreachedhim faintly, bringing with itthe assurance of someunusual event.He glanced attheriverjustashewasgoingto leave the verandah andchecked himself at the sightof a small canoe crossingover from the Rajah’slanding-place. The solitary

occupant (in whom Almayersoon recognised Babalatchi)effected the crossing a littlebelow thehouseandpaddledup to theLingard jetty in thedead water under the bank.Babalatchi clambered outslowlyandwentonfasteninghiscanoewithfastidiouscare,as if not in a hurry to meetAlmayer, whom he sawlooking at him from theverandah. This delay gaveAlmayer time to notice and

greatly wonder atBabalatchi’s official get-up.ThestatesmanofSambirwascladinacostumebefittinghishigh rank. A loudlycheckered sarong encircledhiswaist, and from itsmanyfolds peeped out the silverhilt of the kriss that saw thelightonlyongreatfestivalsorduring official receptions.Over the left shoulder andacross the otherwise uncladbreastoftheageddiplomatist

glistenedapatentleatherbeltbearingabrassplatewiththearms of Netherlands underthe inscription, “Sultan ofSambir.” Babalatchi’s headwas coveredbya red turban,whose fringed ends fallingover the left cheek andshouldergavetohisagedfacea ludicrous expression ofjoyous recklessness. Whenthecanoewasatlastfastenedto his satisfaction hestraightened himself up,

shakingdownthefoldsofhissarong,andmovedwith longstrides towards Almayer’shouse,swingingregularlyhislong ebony staff,whosegoldhead ornamented withpreciousstonesflashedinthemorningsun.Almayerwavedhis hand to the right towardsthe point of land, to himinvisible, but in full viewfromthejetty.“Oh, Babalatchi! oh!” he

calledout;“whatisthematter

there?canyousee?”Babalatchi stopped and

gazedintentlyatthecrowdonthe river bank, and after alittle while the astonishedAlmayer saw him leave thepath, gather up his sarong inone hand, and break into atrotthroughthegrasstowardsthe muddy point. Almayer,now greatly interested, randown the steps of theverandah. The murmur ofmen’s voices and the shrill

cries of women reached himquite distinctly now, and assoon as he turned the cornerofhishousehecouldsee thecrowdonthelowpromontoryswaying and pushing roundsome object of interest. Hecould indistinctly hearBabalatchi’s voice, then thecrowdopenedbeforetheagedstatesman and closed afterhim with an excited hum,endinginaloudshout.As Almayer approached

the throngamanranoutandrushed past him towards thesettlement,unheedinghiscallto stopandexplain thecauseof this excitement. On thevery outskirts of the crowdAlmayer found himselfarrested by an unyieldingmass of humanity, regardlessofhisentreatiesforapassage,insensible to his gentlepushesashetriedtoworkhisway through it towards theriverside.

In the midst of his gentleandslowprogresshe fanciedsuddenly he had heard hiswife’svoiceinthethickestofthe throng. He could notmistake very well Mrs.Almayer’s high-pitchedtones,yetthewordsweretooindistinct for him tounderstand their purport. Hepaused in his endeavours tomake a passage for himself,intending to get someintelligence from those

aroundhim,whenalongandpiercing shriek rent the air,silencing themurmurs of thecrowd and the voices of hisinformants. For a momentAlmayer remained as ifturned into stone withastonishment and horror, forhe was certain now that hehadheardhiswifewailingforthe dead. He rememberedNina’s unusual absence, andmaddened by hisapprehensions as to her

safety,hepushedblindlyandviolently forward, the crowdfalling back with cries ofsurprise and pain before hisfranticadvance.On the point of land in a

littleclearspacelaythebodyofthestrangerjusthauledoutfrom amongst the logs. OnonesidestoodBabalatchi,hischinrestingontheheadofhisstaff and his one eye gazingsteadilyattheshapelessmassof broken limbs, torn flesh,

and bloodstained rags. AsAlmayer burst through thering of horrified spectators,Mrs.Almayer threwherownhead-veil over the upturnedface of the drowned man,and, squatting by it, withanothermournfulhowl,sentashiver through thenowsilentcrowd. Mahmat, drippingwet,turnedtoAlmayer,eagertotellhistale.In the first moment of

reaction from the anguish of

his fear the sunshine seemedto waver before Almayer’seyes,andhelistenedtowordsspoken around him withoutcomprehending theirmeaning. When, by a strongeffortofwill,heregainedthepossession of his senses,Mahmatwassaying—“Thatistheway,Tuan.His

sarong was caught in thebroken branch, and he hungwith his head under water.WhenIsawwhatitwasIdid

notwantithere.Iwantedittogetclearanddriftaway.Whyshouldwe bury a stranger inthe midst of our houses forhis ghost to frighten ourwomen and children? Havewe not enough ghosts aboutthisplace?”A murmur of approval

interruptedhimhere.Mahmatlooked reproachfully atBabalatchi.“But the Tuan Babalatchi

orderedme to drag the body

ashore”—hewenton lookinground at his audience, butaddressing himself only toAlmayer—“and I draggedhim by the feet; in throughthemud Ihavedraggedhim,although my heart longed tosee him float down the riverto strand perchance onBulangi’s clearing—may hisfather’sgravebedefiled!”There was subdued

laughter at this, for theenmity of Mahmat and

Bulangi was a matter ofcommon notoriety and ofundying interest to theinhabitants of Sambir. In themidst of that mirth Mrs.Almayer wailed suddenlyagain.“Allah! What ails the

woman!”exclaimedMahmat,angrily. “Here, I havetouched this carcass whichcame from nobody knowswhere, and have most likelydefiled myself before eating

rice. By orders of TuanBabalatchi I did this thing toplease the white man. Areyou pleased, O TuanAlmayer? And what will bemy recompense? TuanBabalatchisaidarecompensethere will be, and from you.Now consider. I have beendefiled, and if not defiled Imaybeunderthespell.Lookat his anklets! Who everheard of a corpse appearingduring the night amongst the

logs with gold anklets on itslegs? There is witchcraftthere. However,” addedMahmat, after a reflectivepause,“Iwillhavetheankletif there is permission, for Ihave a charm against theghostsandamnotafraid.Godisgreat!”A fresh outburst of noisy

grief from Mrs. Almayerchecked the flow ofMahmat’s eloquence.Almayer, bewildered, looked

in turn at his wife, atMahmat,atBabalatchi,andatlast arrested his fascinatedgazeonthebodylyingonthemud with covered face in agrotesquely unnaturalcontortion of mangled andbrokenlimbs,onetwistedandlacerated arm, with whitebones protruding in manyplaces through the torn flesh,stretched out; the hand withoutspread fingers nearlytouchinghisfoot.

“Do you know who thisis?” he asked of Babalatchi,inalowvoice.Babalatchi, staring straight

beforehim,hardlymovedhislips, while Mrs. Almayer’spersistent lamentationsdrowned the whisper of hismurmured reply intendedonlyforAlmayer’sear.“It was fate. Look at your

feet, white man. I can see aring on those torn fingerswhichIknowwell.”

Saying this, Babalatchistepped carelessly forward,putting his foot as ifaccidentally on the hand ofthecorpseandpressingitintothe soft mud. He swung hisstaff menacingly towards thecrowd, which fell back alittle.“Goaway,”hesaidsternly,

“and send your women totheir cooking fires, whichtheyoughtnot tohaveleft torunafteradeadstranger.This

is men’s work here. I takehim now in the name of theRajah. Let no man remainhere but Tuan Almayer’sslaves.Nowgo!”The crowd reluctantly

began to disperse. Thewomen went first, draggingaway the children that hungbackwith all theirweightonthe maternal hand. The menstrolled slowly after them inever forming and changinggroups that gradually

dissolved as they neared thesettlement and every manregained his own house withsteps quickened by thehungry anticipation of themorning rice. Only on theslight elevation where thelandslopeddowntowardsthemuddy point a few men,either friends or enemies ofMahmat, remained gazingcuriously for some timelonger at the small groupstanding around the body on

theriverbank.“I do not understand what

you mean, Babalatchi,” saidAlmayer. “What is the ringyou are talking about?Whoever he is, you havetrodden the poor fellow’shand right into the mud.Uncover his face,” he wenton,addressingMrs.Almayer,who,squattingbytheheadofthe corpse, rocked herself toandfro,shakingfromtimetotime her dishevelled grey

locks, and mutteringmournfully.“Hai!”exclaimedMahmat,

who had lingered close by.“Look, Tuan; the logs cametogether so,” and here hepressed the palms of hishandstogether,“andhisheadmust have been betweenthem, and now there is nofaceforyoutolookat.Thereare his flesh and his bones,the nose, and the lips, andmaybe his eyes, but nobody

could tell the one from theother. It was written the dayhe was born that no mancould look at him in deathand be able to say, ‘This ismyfriend’sface.’”“Silence, Mahmat;

enough!” said Babalatchi,“and take thy eyes off hisanklet, thou eater of pigsflesh. Tuan Almayer,” hewent on, lowering his voice,“have you seen Dain thismorning?”

Almayer opened his eyeswide and looked alarmed.“No,” he said quickly;“haven’tyouseenhim?Ishenot with the Rajah? I amwaiting; why does he notcome?”Babalatchinoddedhishead

sadly.“Heiscome,Tuan.Heleft

lastnightwhenthestormwasgreat and the river spokeangrily. The night was veryblack, but he hadwithin him

alightthatshowedthewaytoyour house as smooth as anarrow backwater, and themany logs no bigger thanwisps of dried grass.Therefore he went; and nowhelieshere.”AndBabalatchinodded his head towards thebody.“How can you tell?” said

Almayer, excitedly, pushinghis wife aside. He snatchedthe cover off and looked atthe formless mass of flesh,

hair, and drying mud, wherethe face of the drownedmanshould have been. “Nobodycan tell,” he added, turningawaywithashudder.Babalatchi was on his

knees wiping the mud fromthe stiffened fingers of theoutstretchedhand.Herose tohis feet and flashed beforeAlmayer’s eyes a gold ringsetwithalargegreenstone.“You know this well,” he

said. “This never left Dain’s

hand. I had to tear the fleshnow to get it off. Do youbelievenow?”Almayer raised his hands

to his head and let them falllistlessly by his side in theutterabandonmentofdespair.Babalatchi, looking at himcuriously, was astonished tosee him smile. A strangefancyhadtakenpossessionofAlmayer’s brain, distractedby this new misfortune. Itseemed tohim that formany

yearshehadbeenfallingintoa deep precipice. Day afterday,monthaftermonth,yearafter year, he had beenfalling,falling,falling;itwasasmooth, round,black thing,and theblackwallshadbeenrushing upwards withwearisome rapidity. A greatrush, the noise of which hefanciedhecouldhearyet;andnow,withanawfulshock,hehad reached the bottom, andbehold! he was alive and

whole, and Dain was deadwith all his bones broken. Itstruck him as funny. A deadMalay; he had seen manydead Malays without anyemotion; and now he feltinclined to weep, but it wasover the fate of awhitemanheknew;amanthatfellovera deep precipice and did notdie. He seemed somehow tohimselftobestandingononeside,a littlewayoff, lookingatacertainAlmayerwhowas

in great trouble. Poor, poorfellow! Why doesn’t he cuthis throat? He wished toencourage him; he was veryanxioustoseehimlyingdeadover that other corpse. Whydoes he not die and end thissuffering? He groaned aloudunconsciously and startedwith affright at the sound ofhisownvoice.Washegoingmad?Terrifiedbythethoughthe turned away and rantowards his house repeating

to himself, I am not goingmad; of course not, no, no,no! He tried to keep a firmholdoftheidea.Not mad, not mad. He

stumbledasheranblindlyupthe steps repeating fast andever faster those wordswherein seemed to lie hissalvation. He saw Ninastanding there,andwished tosay something to her, butcould not rememberwhat, inhis extreme anxiety not to

forget that he was not goingmad, which he still keptrepeating mentally as he ranround the table, till hestumbled against one of thearm-chairs and dropped intoit exhausted. He sat staringwildly at Nina, still assuringhimself mentally of his ownsanityandwonderingwhythegirlshrankfromhiminopen-eyed alarm. What was thematter with her? This wasfoolish. He struck the table

violently with his clenchedfist and shouted hoarsely,“Give me some gin! Run!”Then,whileNina ran off, heremained in the chair, verystill and quiet, astonished atthenoisehehadmade.Nina returned with a

tumbler half filled with gin,and found her father staringabsentlybeforehim.Almayerfelt very tired now, as if hehad come from a longjourney. He felt as if he had

walked miles and miles thatmorning and now wanted torest very much. He took thetumblerwitha shakinghand,and as he drank his teethchattered against the glasswhich he drained and setdownheavilyonthetable.Heturned his eyes slowlytowardsNinastandingbesidehim,andsaidsteadily—“Nowallisover,Nina.He

is dead, and I may as wellburnallmyboats.”

Hefeltveryproudofbeingable to speak so calmly.Decidedly he was not goingmad.This certitudewasverycomforting, and he went ontalking about the finding ofthebody,listeningtohisownvoice complacently. Ninastood quietly, her handresting lightlyonher father’sshoulder, her face unmoved,buteverylineofherfeatures,theattitudeofherwholebodyexpressingthemostkeenand

anxiousattention.“AndsoDainisdead,”she

said coldly, when her fatherceasedspeaking.Almayer’s elaborately

calmdemeanourgavewayina moment to an outburst ofviolentindignation.“You stand there as if you

wereonlyhalfalive,andtalktome,”heexclaimedangrily,“as if it was a matter of noimportance. Yes, he is dead!Do you understand? Dead!

Whatdoyoucare?Younevercared; you saw me struggle,and work, and strive,unmoved; and my sufferingyou could never see. No,never.Youhavenoheart,andyou have no mind, or youwouldhaveunderstoodthatitwas for you, for yourhappiness I was working. Iwantedtoberich;Iwantedtogetawayfromhere.Iwantedtoseewhitemenbowinglowbefore the power of your

beauty and your wealth. Oldas I am I wished to seek astrange land, a civilisation towhich I am a stranger, so asto find a new life in thecontemplation of your highfortunes,ofyourtriumphs,ofyour happiness. For that Ibore patiently the burden ofwork, of disappointment, ofhumiliation amongst thesesavageshere, and Ihad it allnearlyinmygrasp.”Helookedathisdaughter’s

attentive face and jumped tohisfeetupsettingthechair.“Do you hear? I had it all

there; so;within reachofmyhand.”He paused, trying to keep

down his rising anger, andfailed.“Haveyounofeeling?”he

went on. “Have you livedwithouthope?”Nina’ssilenceexasperated him; his voicerose, although he tried tomasterhisfeelings.

“Areyoucontenttoliveinthis misery and die in thiswretched hole? Saysomething,Nina;haveyounosympathy?Haveyounowordof comfort for me? I thatlovedyouso.”He waited for a while for

an answer, and receivingnone shook his fist in hisdaughter’sface.“I believe you are an

idiot!”heyelled.He looked round for the

chair, picked it up and satdown stiffly. His anger wasdead within him, and he feltashamed of his outburst, yetrelieved to think that nowhehad laid clear before hisdaughtertheinnermeaningofhis life. He thought so inperfect good faith, deceivedby the emotional estimate ofhismotives,unabletoseethecrookedness of hisways, theunreality of his aims, thefutility of his regrets. And

nowhisheartwasfilledonlywith a great tenderness andlove for his daughter. Hewanted to see her miserable,and to share with her hisdespair;buthewanteditonlyasallweaknatureslongforacompanionship in misfortunewith beings innocent of itscause. If she suffered herselfshe would understand andpityhim;butnowshewouldnot, or could not, find oneword of comfort or love for

himinhisdireextremity.Thesense of his absoluteloneliness came home to hisheart with a force that madehim shudder.He swayed andfell forwardwith his face onthe table, his arms stretchedstraight out, extended andrigid. Nina made a quickmovement towardsher fatherandstoodlookingat thegreyhead, on the broad shouldersshaken convulsively by theviolence of feelings that

foundreliefatlastinsobsandtears.Nina sighed deeply and

moved away from the table.Her features lost theappearance of stonyindifference that hadexasperatedherfatherintohisoutburstofangerandsorrow.The expression of her face,now unseen by her father,underwent a rapid change.ShehadlistenedtoAlmayer’sappeal for sympathy, for one

word of comfort, apparentlyindifferent, yet with herbreast torn by conflictingimpulses raised unexpectedlyby events she had notforeseen, or at least did notexpect to happen so soon.Withherheartdeeplymovedby the sight of Almayer’smisery, knowing it in herpower to end itwith aword,longingtobringpeacetothattroubledheart,sheheardwithterror the voice of her

overpowering lovecommandingher tobe silent.And she submitted after ashort and fierce struggle ofher old self against the newprinciple of her life. Shewrapped herself up inabsolute silence, the onlysafeguard against some fataladmission.Shecouldnottrustherself to make a sign, tomurmur a word for fear ofsayingtoomuch;andtheveryviolence of the feelings that

stirred the innermost recessesofhersoulseemedtoturnherperson into a stone. Thedilated nostrils and theflashing eyes were the onlysigns of the storm ragingwithin,andthosesignsofhisdaughter’s emotion Almayerdidnot see, forhis sightwasdimmed by self-pity, byanger,andbydespair.HadAlmayerlookedathis

daughterassheleantoverthefront rail of the verandah he

could have seen theexpression of indifferencegive way to a look of pain,and that again pass away,leavingthegloriousbeautyofher face marred by deep-drawn lines of watchfulanxiety.Thelonggrassintheneglected courtyard stoodvery straight before her eyesinthenoondayheat.Fromtheriver-bank there were voicesand a shuffle of bare feetapproaching the house;

Babalatchi could be heardgiving directions toAlmayer’s men, and Mrs.Almayer’s subdued wailingbecame audible as the smallprocession bearing the bodyof the drowned man andheaded by that sorrowfulmatron turned the corner ofthe house. Babalatchi hadtaken the broken anklet offtheman’sleg,andnowhelditin his hand as he moved bythe sideof thebearers,while

Mahmat lingered behindtimidly, in the hopes of thepromisedreward.“Lay him there,” said

BabalatchitoAlmayer’smen,pointing to a pile of dryingplanks in front of theverandah.“Layhimthere.HewasaKaffirandthesonofadog, and he was the whiteman’s friend. He drank thewhiteman’sstrongwater,”headded, with affected horror.“ThatIhaveseenmyself.”

The men stretched out thebroken limbs on two planksthey had laid level, whileMrs. Almayer covered thebody with a piece of whitecotton cloth, and afterwhispering for some timewith Babalatchi departed toher domestic duties.Almayer’s men, after layingdown their burden, dispersedthemselves in quest of shadyspotswherein to idle thedayaway. Babalatchi was left

alone by the corpse that laidrigidunderthewhiteclothinthebrightsunshine.Nina came down the steps

and joined Babalatchi, whoput his hand to his forehead,andsquatteddownwithgreatdeference.“Youhaveabanglethere,”

said Nina, looking down onBabalatchi’s upturned faceandintohissolitaryeye.“I have, Mem Putih,”

returned thepolitestatesman.

Then turning towardsMahmat he beckoned himcloser, calling out, “Comehere!”Mahmat approached with

some hesitation. He avoidedlookingatNina,butfixedhiseyesonBabalatchi.“Now, listen,” said

Babalatchi,sharply.“Theringandtheankletyouhaveseen,andyouknow theybelongedtoDain the trader, and to noother.Dainreturnedlastnight

inacanoe.HespokewiththeRajah, and in the middle ofthenight left tocrossover tothewhiteman’shouse.Therewas a great flood, and thismorningyoufoundhimintheriver.”“ByhisfeetIdraggedhim

out,”mutteredMahmatunderhis breath. “TuanBabalatchi,therewill be a recompense!”heexclaimedaloud.Babalatchiheldupthegold

banglebeforeMahmat’seyes.

“What I have told you,Mahmat,isforallears.WhatI give you now is for youreyesonly.Take.”Mahmat took the bangle

eagerlyandhiditinthefoldsof his waist-cloth. “Am I afool to show this thing in ahouse with three women init?” he growled. “But I shalltell them about Dain thetrader, and there will be talkenough.”He turned andwent away,

increasinghispaceassoonashe was outside Almayer’scompound.Babalatchi looked after

him till he disappearedbehind the bushes. “Have Idone well, Mem Putih?” heasked, humbly addressingNina.“You have,” answered

Nina. “The ring you maykeepyourself.”Babalatchi touchedhis lips

and forehead, and scrambled

tohisfeet.HelookedatNina,as if expecting her to saysomething more, but Ninaturnedtowardsthehouseandwent up the steps,motioninghimawaywithherhand.Babalatchi picked up his

staff and prepared to go. Itwas very warm, and he didnot care for the long pull tothe Rajah’s house. Yet hemustgo and tell theRajah—tell of the event; of thechangeinhisplans;ofallhis

suspicions.Hewalked to thejettyandbegancastingofftherattanpainterofhiscanoe.The broad expanse of the

lower reach, with itsshimmeringsurfacedottedbythe black specks of thefishingcanoes, laybeforehiseyes. The fishermen seemedto be racing. Babalatchipaused in his work, andlooked on with suddeninterest. The man in theforemost canoe, now within

hail of the first houses ofSambir,laidinhispaddleandstoodupshouting—“Theboats! theboats!The

man-of-war’s boats arecoming!Theyarehere!”Inamomentthesettlement

was again alive with peoplerushing to the riverside. Themen began to unfasten theirboats, the women stood ingroups looking towards thebend down the river. Abovethe trees lining the reach a

slightpuffofsmokeappearedlike a black stain on thebrilliantblueof thecloudlesssky.Babalatchi stood

perplexed, the painter in hishand. He looked down thereach, then up towardsAlmayer’s house, and backagain at the river as ifundecidedwhattodo.Atlasthemade thecanoe fastagainhastily, and ran towards thehouseandupthestepsofthe

verandah.“Tuan! Tuan!” he called,

eagerly. “The boats arecoming. The man-of-war’sboats. You had better getready.Theofficerswillcomehere,Iknow.”Almayer lifted his head

slowly from the table, andlookedathimstupidly.“Mem Putih!” exclaimed

Babalatchi to Nina, “look athim. He does not hear. Youmust take care,” he added

meaningly.Nina nodded to him with

an uncertain smile, and wasgoingtospeak,whenasharpreport from the gunmountedin the bow of the steamlaunch that was just thencomingintoviewarrestedthewordsonherpartedlips.Thesmile died out, and wasreplaced by the old look ofanxious attention. From thehills far away the echo cameback like a long-drawn and

mournful sigh, as if the landhad sent it in answer to thevoiceofitsmasters.

8Chapter

Thenewsastotheidentityofthe body lying now inAlmayer’s compound spreadrapidly over the settlement.During the forenoonmost ofthe inhabitants remained in

the long street discussing themysterious return and theunexpected death of themanwho had become known tothemasthetrader.Hisarrivalduring the north-eastmonsoon,his longsojourn intheir midst, his suddendeparture with his brig, and,above all, the mysteriousappearance of the body, saidto be his, amongst the logs,were subjects to wonder atand to talk over and over

again with undiminishedinterest.Mahmatmovedfromhouse to house and fromgroup togroup,alwaysreadytorepeathistale:howhesawthebodycaughtbythesarongin a forked log; how Mrs.Almayer coming, one of thefirst, at his cries, recognisedit, even before he had ithauled on shore; howBabalatchi ordered him tobringitoutofthewater.“BythefeetIdraggedhimin,and

there was no head,”exclaimedMahmat,“andhowcould the white man’s wifeknowwho itwas?Shewasawitch, it was well known.And did you see how thewhite man himself ran awayatthesightofthebody?Likea deer he ran!” And hereMahmat imitated Almayer’slong strides, to the great joyof the beholders.And for allhis trouble he had nothing.Theringwiththegreenstone

Tuan Babalatchi kept.“Nothing!Nothing!”He spatdown at his feet in sign ofdisgust,andleftthatgrouptoseek further on a freshaudience.The news spreading to the

furthermost parts of thesettlement found outAbdullain the cool recess of hisgodown, where he satoverlooking his Arab clerksand the men loading andunloading the up-country

canoes. Reshid, who wasbusy on the jetty, wassummoned into his uncle’spresence and found him, asusual, very calm and evencheerful, but very muchsurprised. The rumour of thecapture or destruction ofDain’s brig had reached theArab’searsthreedaysbeforefrom the sea-fishermen andthrough the dwellers on thelower reaches of the river. Ithad been passed up-stream

from neighbour to neighbourtill Bulangi, whose clearingwasnearest tothesettlement,had brought that newshimself to Abdulla whosefavour he courted. Butrumour also spoke of a fightandofDain’sdeathonboardhis own vessel. And now allthe settlement talked ofDain’s visit to theRajah andof his death when crossingthe river in the dark to seeAlmayer.

They could not understandthis. Reshid thought that itwas very strange. He feltuneasy and doubtful. ButAbdulla, after the first shockofsurprise,withtheoldage’sdislike for solving riddles,showed a becomingresignation.Heremarkedthatthemanwasdeadnowat allevents, and consequently nomore dangerous. Where wasthe use to wonder at thedecrees of Fate, especially if

they were propitious to theTrue Believers? And with apiousejaculationtoAllahtheMerciful, theCompassionate,Abdullaseemedtoregardtheincident as closed for thepresent.NotsoReshid.Helingered

by his uncle, pullingthoughtfully his neatlytrimmedbeard.“There are many lies,” he

murmured. “He has beendead once before, and came

to life to die again now.TheDutch will be here beforemany days and clamour forthe man. Shall I not believemy eyes sooner than thetongues of women and idlemen?”“They say that thebody is

being taken to Almayer’scompound,”saidAbdulla.“Ifyou want to go there youmust go before the Dutcharrivehere.Golate.Itshouldnotbesaidthatwehavebeen

seen inside that man’senclosurelately.”Reshidassentedtothetruth

ofthislastremarkandlefthisuncle’s side. He leanedagainst the lintel of the bigdoorway and looked idlyacross the courtyard throughtheopengate on to themainroad of the settlement. It layempty, straight, and yellowunderthefloodoflight.Inthehot noontide the smoothtrunks of palm trees, the

outlines of the houses, andawaythereattheotherendofthe road the roof ofAlmayer’shousevisibleoverthe bushes on the darkbackgroundofforest,seemedtoquiverintheheatradiatingfrom the steaming earth.Swarms of yellow butterfliesrose,andsettledtoriseagainin short flights beforeReshid’s half-closed eyes.Fromunderhisfeetarosethedull hum of insects in the

long grass of the courtyard.Helookedonsleepily.Fromoneof thesidepaths

amongstthehousesawomanstepped out on the road, aslight girlish figure walkingunder the shade of a largetraybalancedonitshead.Theconsciousness of somethingmoving stirredReshid’shalf-sleeping senses into acomparativewakefulness.Herecognised Taminah,Bulangi’s slave-girl,withher

tray of cakes for sale—anapparitionofdailyrecurrenceand of no importancewhatever. She was goingtowards Almayer’s house.Shecouldbemadeuseful.Heroused himself up and rantowards the gate calling out,“Taminah O!” The girlstopped, hesitated, and camebackslowly.Reshid waited, signing to

her impatiently to comenearer.

When near ReshidTaminahstoodwithdowncasteyes. Reshid looked at her awhilebeforeheasked—“Are you going to

Almayer’s house? They sayinthesettlementthatDainthetrader, he that was founddrowned this morning, islying in the white man’scampong.”“I have heard this talk,”

whisperedTaminah;“andthismorning by the riverside I

saw the body. Where it isnowIdonotknow.”“So you have seen it?”

asked Reshid, eagerly. “Is itDain? You have seen himmanytimes.Youwouldknowhim.”Thegirl’slipsquiveredand

she remained silent for awhile,breathingquickly.“I have seen him, not a

long time ago,” she said atlast. “The talk is true; he isdead.Whatdoyouwantfrom

me,Tuan?Imustgo.”Just then the report of the

gun firedonboard the steamlaunch was heard,interrupting Reshid’s reply.Leavingthegirlherantothehouse, and met in thecourtyard Abdulla comingtowardsthegate.“The Orang Blanda are

come,” said Reshid, “andnow we shall have ourreward.”Abdulla shook his head

doubtfully.“Thewhitemen’srewardsare long incoming,”he said. “White men arequick in anger and slow ingratitude.Weshallsee.”He stood at the gate

stroking his grey beard andlisteningtothedistantcriesofgreeting at the other end ofthe settlement. As Taminahwas turning to go he calledherback.“Listen, girl,” he said:

“there will be many white

meninAlmayer’shouse.Youshall be there selling yourcakes to the men of the sea.What you see and what youhear youmay tellme. ComeherebeforethesunsetsandIwill give you a bluehandkerchief with red spots.Now go, and forget not toreturn.”He gave her a push with

the end of his long staff asshe was going away andmadeherstumble.

“This slave is very slow,”he remarked to his nephew,looking after the girl withgreatdisfavour.Taminah walked on, her

tray on the head, her eyesfixedontheground.Fromtheopen doors of the houseswere heard, as she passed,friendly calls inviting herwithin for business purposes,but she never heeded them,neglecting her sales in thepreoccupation of intense

thinking.Sincetheveryearlymorningshehadheardmuch,she had also seen much thatfilled her heart with a joymingled with great sufferingand fear. Before the dawn,before she left Bulangi’shousetopaddleuptoSambirshe had heard voices outsidethe house when all in it butherself were asleep. Andnow, with her knowledge ofthe words spoken in thedarkness,sheheldinherhand

alifeandcarriedinherbreasta great sorrow.Yet from herspringystep,erectfigure,andface veiled over by theeveryday look of apatheticindifference, nobody couldhave guessed of the doubleload she carried under thevisible burden of the traypiled up high with cakesmanufactured by the thriftyhands of Bulangi’swives. Inthat supple figure straight asanarrow,sogracefulandfree

in itswalk,behind those softeyesthatspokeofnothingbutof unconscious resignation,theresleptallfeelingsandallpassions, all hopes and allfears,thecurseoflifeandtheconsolationofdeath.Andsheknew nothing of it all. Shelived like the tall palmsamongst whom she waspassing now, seeking thelight, desiring the sunshine,fearing the storm,unconscious of either. The

slavehadnohope,andknewofnochange.Sheknewofnoother sky,nootherwater, noother forest, no other world,no other life. She had nowish, no hope, no love, nofearexceptofablow,andnovivid feeling but that ofoccasionalhunger,whichwasseldom, forBulangiwas richand rice was plentiful in thesolitaryhouseinhisclearing.The absence of pain andhunger was her happiness,

and when she felt unhappyshe was simply tired, morethan usual, after the day’slabour.Theninthehotnightsof the south-west monsoonshe slept dreamlessly underthe bright stars on theplatform built outside thehouse and over the river.Insidetheyslepttoo:Bulangibythedoor;hiswivesfurtherin; the children with theirmothers.Shecouldheartheirbreathing; Bulangi’s sleepy

voice;thesharpcryofachildsoon hushed with tenderwords. And she closed hereyes to the murmur of thewater below her, to thewhisper of the warm windabove, ignorant of thenever-ceasing life of that tropicalnature that spoke to her invain with the thousand faintvoicesofthenearforest,withthe breath of tepid wind; intheheavyscentsthatlingeredaroundherhead;inthewhite

wraiths of morning mist thathung over her in the solemnhushofallcreationbeforethedawn.Such had been her

existence before the comingofthebrigwiththestrangers.She remembered well thattime; the uproar in thesettlement, the never-endingwonder, the days and nightsof talk and excitement. Sherememberedherowntimiditywith the strangemen, till the

brig moored to the bankbecame in a manner part ofthe settlement, and the fearworeoff in the familiarityofconstant intercourse.Thecallonboardthenbecamepartofher daily round. She walkedhesitatingly up the slantingplanksofthegangwayamidstthe encouraging shouts andmore or less decent jokes ofthe men idling over thebulwarks. There she sold herwarestothosementhatspoke

so loud and carriedthemselvessofree.Therewasa throng, a constant comingandgoing;callsinterchanged,orders given and executedwith shouts; the rattle ofblocks, the flinging about ofcoils of rope. She sat out ofthe way under the shade ofthe awning, with her traybefore her, the veil drawnwell over her face, feelingshy amongst so many men.She smiled at all buyers, but

spoke to none, letting theirjests pass with stolidunconcern. She heard manytales told around her of far-off countries, of strangecustoms, of events strangerstill. Those men were brave;but themost fearlessof themspokeoftheirchiefwithfear.Often the man they calledtheir master passed beforeher, walking erect andindifferent, in the pride ofyouth, in the flash of rich

dress, with a tinkle of goldornaments, while everybodystood aside watchinganxiously for amovement ofhis lips, ready to do hisbidding. Then all her lifeseemedtorushintohereyes,and from under her veil shegazed at him, charmed, yetfearful to attract attention.One day he noticed her andasked,“Whoisthatgirl?”“Aslave, Tuan!A girl that sellscakes,”adozenvoicesreplied

together.Sheroseinterrortorunon shore,whenhe calledher back; and as she stoodtrembling with head hungdown before him, he spokekind words, lifting her chinwith his hand and lookinginto her eyes with a smile.“Do not be afraid,” he said.He never spoke to her anymore. Somebody called outfromtheriverbank;heturnedaway and forgot herexistence. Taminah saw

Almayer standing on theshore with Nina on his arm.She heard Nina’s voicecalling out gaily, and sawDain’sfacebrightenwithjoyas he leaped on shore. Shehated the soundof thatvoiceeversince.After that day she left off

visiting Almayer’scompound, and passed thenoonhoursundertheshadeofthebrigawning.Shewatchedfor his coming with heart

beating quicker and quicker,asheapproached,intoawildtumult of newly-arousedfeelings of joy and hope andfear that died away withDain’s retreating figure,leaving her tired out, as ifafter a struggle, sitting stillfor a long time in dreamylanguor. Then she paddledhomeslowlyintheafternoon,often letting her canoe floatwith the lazy stream in thequiet backwater of the river.

The paddle hung idle in thewater as she sat in the stern,onehandsupportingherchin,hereyeswideopen, listeningintently to the whispering ofherheartthatseemedtoswellat last intoasongofextremesweetness. Listening to thatsong she husked the rice athome;itdulledherearstotheshrill bickerings ofBulangi’swives, to the sound of angryreproaches addressed toherself. And when the sun

was near its setting shewalked to the bathing-placeand heard it as she stood onthe tender grass of the lowbank,herrobeatherfeet,andlookedatthereflectionofherfigure on the glass-likesurface of the creek.Listening to it she walkedslowly back, her wet hairhanging over her shoulders;layingdowntorestunderthebright stars, she closed hereyes to the murmur of the

water below, of the warmwind above; to the voice ofnature speaking through thefaint noises of the greatforest,and to thesongofherownheart.She heard, but did not

understand, and drank in thedreamy joy of her newexistence without troublingabout itsmeaning or its end,till the full consciousness oflifecame toher throughpainand anger. And she suffered

horriblythefirsttimeshesawNina’s long canoe driftsilently past the sleepinghouseofBulangi,bearingthetwoloversintothewhitemistof the great river. Herjealousy and rage culminatedinto a paroxysm of physicalpain that left her lyingpanting on the river bank, inthe dumb agony of awounded animal. But shewent on moving patiently inthe enchanted circle of

slavery, going through hertaskdayafterdaywithallthepathos of the grief she couldnot express, even to herself,lockedwithinherbreast.Sheshrank from Nina as shewould have shrunk from thesharpbladeofaknifecuttingintoherflesh,butshekeptonvisiting the brig to feed herdumb, ignorant soul on herown despair. She saw Dainmany times.Henever spoke,he never looked. Could his

eyes see only one woman’simage? Could his ears hearonlyonewoman’svoice?Henevernoticedher;notonce.And then he went away.

ShesawhimandNinaforthelast time on that morningwhen Babalatchi, whilevisiting his fish baskets, hadhis suspicions of the whiteman’s daughter’s love affairwith Dain confirmed beyondthe shadow of doubt. Daindisappeared, and Taminah’s

heart, where lay useless andbarren the seeds of all loveand of all hate, thepossibilities of all passionsandofallsacrifices,forgotitsjoys and its sufferings whendeprived of the help of thesenses. Her half-formed,savagemind,theslaveofherbody—as her body was theslave of another’s will—forgot the faint and vagueimage of the ideal that hadfound its beginning in the

physical promptings of hersavage nature. She droppedback into the torpor of herformer life and foundconsolation—even a certainkind of happiness—in thethought that now Nina andDain were separated,probably for ever. He wouldforget. This thought soothedthe last pangs of dyingjealousythathadnothingnowto feed upon, and Taminahfound peace. It was like the

drearytranquillityofadesert,where there is peace onlybecausethereisnolife.And now he had returned.

Shehad recognisedhisvoicecalling aloud in the night forBulangi. She had crept outafter her master to listencloser to the intoxicatingsound. Dain was there, in aboat, talking to Bulangi.Taminah, listening witharrestedbreath,heardanothervoice. The maddening joy,

thatonlyasecondbeforeshethought herself incapable ofcontaining within her fast-beating heart, died out, andleft her shivering in the oldanguish of physical pain thatshe had suffered once beforeatthesightofDainandNina.Ninaspokenow,orderingandentreating in turns, andBulangi was refusing,expostulating, at lastconsenting. He went in totake a paddle from the heap

lying behind the door.Outside the murmur of twovoices went on, and shecaughtawordhereandthere.She understood that he wasfleeing fromwhitemen, thathe was seeking a hiding-place, that he was in somedanger. But she heard alsowordswhichwoketherageofjealousy thathadbeenasleepfor so many days in herbosom.Crouchinglowonthemud in the black darkness

amongst the piles, she heardthe whisper in the boat thatmade light of toil, ofprivation, of danger, of lifeitself, if in exchange therecould be but a shortmomentofcloseembrace,alookfromthe eyes, the feel of lightbreath, the touchof soft lips.SospokeDainashesatinthecanoe holding Nina’s handswhile waiting for Bulangi’sreturn; and Taminah,supporting herself by the

slimy pile, felt as if a heavyweight was crushing herdown, down into the blackoily water at her feet. Shewanted to cry out; to rush atthem and tear their vagueshadowsapart;tothrowNinainto the smooth water, clingto her close, hold her to thebottomwherethatmancouldnot find her. She could notcry, she could not move.Thenfootstepswereheardonthe bamboo platform above

herhead;shesawBulangigetinto his smallest canoe andtake the lead, the other boatfollowing, paddled by DainandNina.Withaslightsplashof the paddles dippedstealthilyintothewater, theirindistinctformspassedbeforeherachingeyesandvanishedinthedarknessofthecreek.She remained there in the

cold and wet, powerless tomove, breathing painfullyunder the crushing weight

that the mysterious hand ofFate had laid so suddenlyupon her slender shoulders,and shivering, she feltwithinaburningfire,thatseemedtofeeduponherverylife.Whenthebreakingdayhadspreadapale golden ribbon over theblack outline of the forests,she took up her tray anddeparted towards thesettlement, going about hertaskpurely from the forceofhabit. As she approached

Sambir she could see theexcitement and she heardwith momentary surprise ofthefindingofDain’sbody.Itwas not true, of course. Sheknew it well. She regrettedthat he was not dead. Sheshouldhave likedDain tobedead,soas tobepartedfromthat woman—from allwomen. She felt a strongdesire to see Nina, butwithoutanyclearobject.Shehatedher,andfearedherand

shefeltanirresistibleimpulsepushing her towardsAlmayer’s house to see thewhite woman’s face, to lookclose at those eyes, to hearagain that voice, for thesound of which Dain wasready to risk his liberty, hislife even. She had seen hermany times; she had heardher voice daily for manymonths past.Whatwas thereinher?Whatwasthereinthatbeingtomakeamanspeakas

Dain had spoken, to makehim blind to all other faces,deaftoallothervoices?She left the crowd by the

riverside, and wanderedaimlessly among the emptyhouses, resisting the impulsethat pushed her towardsAlmayer’s campong to seekthereinNina’seyesthesecretof her own misery. The sunmounting higher, shortenedthe shadows and poureddown upon her a flood of

light and of stifling heat asshepassedonfromshadowtolight, from light to shadow,amongst the houses, thebushes, the tall trees, in herunconscious flight from thepain in her ownheart. In theextremity of her distress shecould find no words to prayfor relief, she knew of noheaven to sendherprayer to,and she wandered on withtiredfeetinthedumbsurpriseand terror at the injustice of

the suffering inflicted uponherwithoutcauseandwithoutredress.TheshorttalkwithReshid,

the proposal of Abdullasteadiedheralittleandturnedher thoughts into anotherchannel. Dain was in somedanger. He was hiding fromwhitemen.Somuch shehadoverheardlastnight.Theyallthought him dead. She knewhewasalive,andsheknewofhishiding-place.Whatdidthe

Arabswanttoknowaboutthewhite men? The white menwant with Dain? Did theywish to kill him? She couldtell them all—no, she wouldsay nothing, and in the nightshewouldgo tohimandsellhimhis life foraword, forasmile,foragestureeven,andbe his slave in far-offcountries, away from Nina.But there were dangers. Theone-eyed Babalatchi whoknew everything; the white

man’swife—shewasawitch.Perhaps theywould tell.Andthen there was Nina. Shemusthurryonandsee.In her impatience she left

the path and ran towardsAlmayer’s dwelling throughthe undergrowth between thepalm trees. She came out atthe back of the house,wherea narrow ditch, full ofstagnant water thatoverflowed from the river,separated Almayer’s

campongfromtherestof thesettlement. The thick bushesgrowing on the bank werehiding from her sight thelarge courtyard with itscooking shed. Above themrose several thin columns ofsmoke, and from behind thesound of strange voicesinformed Taminah that theMen of the Sea belonging tothe warship had alreadylanded and were campedbetween the ditch and the

house. To the left one ofAlmayer’s slave-girls camedown to the ditch and bentovertheshinywater,washingakettle.Totheright the topsof the banana plantation,visible above the bushes,swayed and shook under thetouch of invisible handsgathering the fruit. On thecalm water several canoesmooredtoaheavystakewerecrowded together, nearlybridging the ditch just at the

place where Taminah stood.The voices in the courtyardroseat times intoanoutburstofcalls,replies,andlaughter,and then died away into asilence that soonwas brokenagain by a fresh clamour.Now and again the thin bluesmokerushedoutthickerandblacker,anddroveinodorousmasses over the creek,wrappingherforamomentinasuffocatingveil;then,asthefresh wood caught well

alight, thesmokevanished inthe bright sunlight, and onlythe scent of aromatic wooddriftedafar,toleewardofthecracklingfires.Taminahrestedhertrayon

a stump of a tree, andremained standing with hereyes turned towardsAlmayer’shouse,whoseroofand part of a whitewashedwall were visible over thebushes. The slave-girlfinished her work, and after

looking forawhilecuriouslyat Taminah, pushed her waythrough the dense thicketback to thecourtyard.RoundTaminah there was now acomplete solitude. She threwherself down on the ground,andhidherfaceinherhands.Now when so close she hadno courage to see Nina. Atevery burst of louder voicesfrom the courtyard sheshiveredinthefearofhearingNina’svoice.Shecametothe

resolution of waiting whereshe was till dark, and thengoing straight to Dain’shiding-place.Fromwhereshewas she could watch themovements ofwhitemen, ofNina, of all Dain’s friends,and of all his enemies. Bothwere hateful alike to her, forboth would take him awaybeyond her reach. She hidherself in the long grass towait anxiously for the sunsetthatseemedsoslowtocome.

On the other side of theditch,behindthebush,bytheclear fires, the seamenof thefrigate had encamped on thehospitable invitation ofAlmayer. Almayer, rousedout of his apathy by theprayers and importunity ofNina, had managed to getdownintimetothejettysoastoreceivetheofficersattheirlanding. The lieutenant incommand accepted hisinvitation to his house with

the remark that in any casetheir business was withAlmayer—and perhaps notvery pleasant, he added.Almayer hardly heard him.He shook hands with themabsently and led the waytowards the house. He wasscarcely conscious of thepolite words of welcome hegreeted the strangers with,and afterwards repeatedseveral times over again inhis efforts to appear at ease.

Theagitationoftheirhostdidnot escape theofficer’s eyes,and the chief confided to hissubordinate, in a low voice,his doubts as to Almayer’ssobriety. The young sub-lieutenant laughed andexpressed in a whisper thehope that thewhitemanwasnot intoxicated enough toneglect the offer of somerefreshments. “He does notseem very dangerous,” headded, as they followed

Almayer up the steps of theverandah.“No, he seems more of a

fool than a knave; I haveheard of him,” returned thesenior.They sat around the table.

Almayer with shaking handsmade gin cocktails, offeredthem all round, and drankhimself, with every gulpfeelingstronger,steadier,andbetter able to face all thedifficulties of his position.

Ignorant of the fate of thebrig he did not suspect thereal object of the officer’svisit.Hehadageneralnotionthat something must haveleaked out about thegunpowder trade, butapprehended nothing beyondsome temporaryinconveniences. Afteremptying his glass he beganto chat easily, lying back inhischairwithoneofhis legsthrown negligently over the

arm.Thelieutenantastrideonhis chair, a glowing cherootin the corner of his mouth,listenedwithaslysmilefrombehind the thick volumes ofsmoke that escaped from hiscompressed lips. The youngsub-lieutenant, leaning withboth elbowson the table, hishead between his hands,looked on sleepily in thetorporinducedbyfatigueandthegin.Almayertalkedon—“Itisagreatpleasuretosee

whitefaceshere.Ihavelivedhere many years in greatsolitude. The Malays, youunderstand, are not companyfor a white man; moreovertheyarenotfriendly; theydonot understand our ways.Great rascals they are. Ibelieve I am the only whitemanontheeastcoastthatisasettled resident. We getvisitors from Macassar orSingapore sometimes—traders, agents, or explorers,

buttheyarerare.Therewasascientificexplorerhereayearormore ago.He lived inmyhouse:drankfrommorningtonight.Helivedjoyouslyforafew months, and when theliquor he brought with himwas gone he returned toBatavia with a report on themineralwealthoftheinterior.Ha,ha,ha!Good,isitnot?”He ceased abruptly and

looked at his guests with ameaninglessstare.Whilethey

laughed he was reciting tohimself the old story: “Daindead,allmyplansdestroyed.Thisistheendofallhopeandof all things.”His heart sankwithinhim.He feltakindofdeadlysickness.“Very good. Capital!”

exclaimed both officers.Almayer came out of hisdespondency with anotherburstoftalk.“Eh! what about the

dinner?Youhavegotacook

with you. That’s all right.Thereisacookingshedintheother courtyard. I can giveyou a goose. Look at mygeese—theonlygeeseon theeast coast—perhaps on thewhole island. Is that yourcook? Very good. Here, Ali,show this Chinaman thecooking place and tell MemAlmayertolethimhaveroomthere. My wife, gentlemen,does not come out; mydaughter may. Meantime

havesomemoredrink.Itisahotday.”The lieutenant took the

cigaroutofhismouth,lookedat the ash critically, shook itoff and turned towardsAlmayer.“We have a rather

unpleasant business withyou,”hesaid.“I am sorry,” returned

Almayer. “It can be nothingveryserious,surely.”“Ifyouthinkanattemptto

blow up forty men at least,not a seriousmatter youwillnotfindmanypeopleofyouropinion,” retorted the officersharply.“Blow up! What? I know

nothing about it,” exclaimedAlmayer. “Who did that, ortriedtodoit?”“A man with whom you

had some dealings,”answered the lieutenant. “Hepassed here under the nameof Dain Maroola. You sold

himthegunpowderhehadinthatbrigwecaptured.”“How did you hear about

the brig?” askedAlmayer. “Iknow nothing about thepowderhemayhavehad.”“An Arab trader of this

placehassenttheinformationaboutyourgoingsonhere toBatavia, a couple of monthsago,” said the officer. “Wewere waiting for the brigoutside,butheslippedpastusatthemouthoftheriver,and

wehadtochasethefellowtothe southward. When hesighted us he ran inside thereefsandput thebrigashore.The crew escaped in boatsbefore we could takepossession. As our boatsneared the craft it blew upwitha tremendousexplosion;one of the boats being toonear got swamped.Twomendrowned—thatistheresultofyour speculation, Mr.Almayer. Now we want this

Dain.Wehavegoodgroundsto suppose he is hiding inSambir.Do you knowwherehe is? You had better putyourself right with theauthorities as much aspossible by being perfectlyfrankwithme.Where is thisDain?”Almayer got up and

walked towards thebalustrade of the verandah.Heseemednottobethinkingof the officer’s question. He

looked at the body layingstraight and rigid under itswhitecoveronwhichthesun,declining amongst the cloudstothewestward,threwapaletinge of red. The lieutenantwaited for theanswer, takingquick pulls at his half-extinguished cigar. Behindthem Ali moved noiselesslylaying the table, rangingsolemnly the ill-assorted andshabby crockery, the tinspoons,theforkswithbroken

prongs, and the knives withsaw-like blades and loosehandles. He had almostforgotten how to prepare thetable for white men. He feltaggrieved; Mem Nina wouldnot help him. He steppedback to look at his workadmiringly, feeling veryproud. This must be right;andifthemasterafterwardsisangry and swears, then somuch the worse for MemNina.Whydid she not help?

He left the verandah to fetchthedinner.“Well, Mr. Almayer, will

you answer my question asfrankly as it is put to you?”asked the lieutenant, after alongsilence.Almayer turned round and

looked at his interlocutorsteadily. “If you catch thisDain what will you do withhim?”heasked.The officer’s face flushed.

“This is not an answer,” he

said,annoyed.“And what will you do

withme?”went onAlmayer,notheedingtheinterruption.“Are you inclined to

bargain?” growled the other.“It would be bad policy, Iassureyou.AtpresentIhaveno orders about your person,but we expected yourassistance in catching thisMalay.”“Ah!”interruptedAlmayer,

“just so: you can do nothing

without me, and I, knowingthemanwell,amtohelpyouinfindinghim.”“This is exactly what we

expect,” assented the officer.“You have broken the law,Mr. Almayer, and you oughttomakeamends.”“Andsavemyself?”“Well,inasenseyes.Your

head is not in any danger,”said the lieutenant, with ashortlaugh.“Verywell,”saidAlmayer,

withdecision,“Ishalldeliverthemanuptoyou.”Both officers rose to their

feet quickly, and looked fortheir side-arms which theyhad unbuckled. Almayerlaughedharshly.“Steady, gentlemen!” he

exclaimed. “Inmy own timeand in my own way. Afterdinner, gentlemen, you shallhavehim.”“This is preposterous,”

urged the lieutenant. “Mr.

Almayer, this is no jokingmatter.Themanisacriminal.He deserves to hang. Whilewe dine he may escape; therumourofourarrival—”Almayer walked towards

the table. “I give you myword of honour, gentlemen,that he shall not escape; Ihavehimsafeenough.”“The arrest should be

effected before dark,”remarkedtheyoungsub.“I shall hold you

responsible for any failure.We are ready, but can donothing just now withoutyou,” added the senior, withevidentannoyance.Almayermadeagestureof

assent. “On my word ofhonour,”herepeatedvaguely.“And now let us dine,” headdedbriskly.Nina came through the

doorway and stood for amoment holding the curtainaside for Ali and the old

Malay woman bearing thedishes; then she movedtowards the threemenby thetable.“Allowme,”saidAlmayer,

pompously. “This is mydaughter. Nina, thesegentlemen, officers of thefrigateoutside,havedonemethe honour to accept myhospitality.”Nina answered the low

bowsofthetwoofficersbyaslow inclination of the head

andtookherplaceatthetableopposite her father. All satdown. The coxswain of thesteam launch came upcarrying some bottles ofwine.“Youwillallowmetohave

thisputuponthetable?”saidthelieutenanttoAlmayer.“What! Wine! You are

very kind. Certainly, I havenonemyself. Times are veryhard.”Thelastwordsofhisreply

werespokenbyAlmayerinafaltering voice. The thoughtthat Dain was dead recurredto him vividly again, and hefelt as if an invisible handwas gripping his throat. Hereached for the gin bottlewhile they were uncorkingthewineandswallowedabiggulp.Thelieutenant,whowasspeakingtoNina,gavehimaquick glance. The young subbegan to recover from theastonishment and confusion

caused byNina’s unexpectedappearance and great beauty.“She was very beautiful andimposing,” he reflected, “butafter all a half-caste girl.”This thought caused him topluck up heart and look atNina sideways. Nina, withcomposed face, wasanswering in a low, evenvoicetheelderofficer’spolitequestions as to the countryand her mode of life.Almayer pushed his plate

away and drank his guest’swineingloomysilence.

9Chapter

“Can I believe what you tellme? It is like a tale formenthatlistenonlyhalfawakebythecampfire,anditseemstohave run off a woman’stongue.”

“Who is there here formeto deceive, O Rajah?”answered Babalatchi.“Without you I am nothing.All I have told you I believeto be true. I have been safeformanyyears in thehollowofyourhand.Thisisnotimeto harbour suspicions. Thedanger is very great. Weshouldadviseandactatonce,beforethesunsets.”“Right. Right,” muttered

Lakamba,pensively.

They had been sitting forthe last hour together in theaudience chamber of theRajah’shouse,forBabalatchi,as soon as he had witnessedthe landing of the Dutchofficers,hadcrossedtheriverto report to his master theeventsofthemorning,andtoconferwithhimuponthelineof conduct to pursue in thefaceofalteredcircumstances.They were both puzzled andfrightened by the unexpected

turntheeventshadtaken.TheRajah, sitting crosslegged onhis chair, looked fixedly atthe floor; Babalatchi wassquatting close by in anattitudeofdeepdejection.“Andwheredidyousayhe

is hiding now?” askedLakamba,breakingatlastthesilence full of gloomyforebodings in which theybothhadbeen lost fora longwhile.“In Bulangi’s clearing—

the furthest one, away fromthe house. They went therethat very night. The whiteman’s daughter took himthere.Shetoldmesoherself,speaking to me openly, forshe is half white and has nodecency. She said she waswaitingforhimwhilehewashere; then, after a long time,he came out of the darknessandfellatherfeetexhausted.Helaylikeonedead,butshebrought him back to life in

her arms, and made himbreathe again with her ownbreath.That iswhatshesaid,speaking tomy face,as Iamspeaking now to you, Rajah.She is like a white womanandknowsnoshame.”He paused, deeply

shocked. Lakamba noddedhis head. “Well, and then?”heasked.“They called the old

woman,”wentonBabalatchi,“andhe told themall—about

the brig, and howhe tried tokillmanymen.He knew theOrangBlandawereverynear,althoughhehad saidnothingtousabout that;heknewhisgreat danger. He thought hehad killed many, but therewereonlytwodead,asIhaveheardfromthemenoftheseathat came in the warship’sboats.”“And the other man, he

thatwas found in the river?”interruptedLakamba.

“That was one of hisboatmen. When his canoewas overturned by the logsthosetwoswamtogether,buttheothermanmusthavebeenhurt.Dainswam,holdinghimup.Helefthiminthebusheswhen he went up to thehouse. When they all camedownhishearthadceased tobeat; then the old womanspoke; Dain thought it wasgood. He took off his ankletandbrokeit,twistingitround

the man’s foot. His ring heput on that slave’s hand. Hetook off his sarong andclothedthatthingthatwantedno clothes, the two womenholdingitupmeanwhile,theirintent being to deceive alleyesandtomisleadthemindsinthesettlement,sothattheycould swear to the thing thatwasnot, and that there couldbe no treachery when thewhite-men came. Then Dainand the white woman

departed to call up Bulangiand find a hiding-place. Theold woman remained by thebody.”“Hai!” exclaimed

Lakamba.“Shehaswisdom.”“Yes, she has a Devil of

herowntowhispercounselinherear,”assentedBabalatchi.“She dragged the body withgreat toil to the point wheremanylogswerestranded.Allthesethingsweredoneinthedarkness after the storm had

passed away. Then shewaited. At the first sign ofdaylightshebatteredthefaceof the dead with a heavystone, and she pushed himamongst the logs. Sheremained near, watching. AtsunriseMahmatBanjer cameand found him. They allbelieved; I myself wasdeceived, but not for long.Thewhitemanbelieved,and,grieving, fled to his house.When we were alone I,

having doubts, spoke to thewoman, and she, fearing myanger and your might, toldme all, asking for help insavingDain.”“He must not fall into the

hands of the Orang Blanda,”said Lakamba; “but let himdie, if the thing can be donequietly.”“It cannot, Tuan!

Remember there is thatwoman who, being halfwhite, is ungovernable, and

would raise a great outcry.Also the officers are here.They are angry enoughalready.Dainmustescape;hemust go. We must help himnowforourownsafety.”“Are the officers very

angry?” inquired Lakamba,withinterest.“They are. The principal

chiefusedstrongwordswhenspeakingtome—tomewhenIsalaamedinyourname.Idonot think,” addedBabalatchi,

after a short pause andlooking very worried—“I donot think I sawawhite chiefso angry before. He said wewere careless or evenworse.Hetoldmehewouldspeaktothe Rajah, and that I was ofnoaccount.”“Speak to the Rajah!”

repeated Lakamba,thoughtfully. “Listen,Babalatchi: I am sick, andshall withdraw; you crossoverandtellthewhitemen.”

“Yes,” said Babalatchi, “Iamgoingoveratonce;andastoDain?”“Yougethimawayasyou

can best. This is a greattrouble in my heart,” sighedLakamba.Babalatchi got up, and,

going close to his master,spokeearnestly.“There is oneofourpraus

at the southern mouth of theriver.TheDutchwarshipistothe northward watching the

main entrance. I shall sendDain off to-night in a canoe,by the hidden channels, onboardtheprau.Hisfatherisagreatprince,andshallhearofour generosity. Let the prautake him toAmpanam.Yourgloryshallbegreat,andyourreward in powerfulfriendship. Almayer will nodoubt deliver the dead bodyasDain’s to theofficers, andthe foolish white men shallsay, ‘This is very good; let

there be peace.’ And thetrouble shall be removedfromyourheart,Rajah.”“True! true!” said

Lakamba.“And, this being

accomplishedbymewhoamyour slave, you shall rewardwith a generous hand.That Iknow! The white man isgrieving for the lost treasure,in the manner of white menwhothirstafterdollars.Now,when all other things are in

order,weshallperhapsobtainthe treasure from the whiteman. Dain must escape, andAlmayermustlive.”“Nowgo,Babalatchi, go!”

saidLakamba,gettingoffhischair. “I am very sick, andwantmedicine.Tellthewhitechiefso.”But Babalatchi was not to

begotridofinthissummarymanner. He knew that hismaster, after the manner ofthe great, liked to shift the

burden of toil and danger ontohisservants’shoulders,butinthedifficultstraitsinwhichthey were now the Rajahmustplayhispart.Hemaybevery sick for the white men,for all the world if he liked,aslongashewouldtakeuponhimself the execution of partat least of Babalatchi’scarefully thought-of plan.Babalatchi wanted a bigcanoemannedbytwelvemento be sent out after dark

towards Bulangi’s clearing.Dain may have to beoverpowered. Aman in lovecannot be expected to seeclearlythepathofsafetyif itleads him away from theobject of his affections,arguedBabalatchi,andinthatcase they would have to useforce in order to make himgo.Would theRajahsee thattrusty men manned thecanoe? The thing must bedone secretly. Perhaps the

Rajah would come himself,so as to bring all the weightof his authority to bear uponDain if he should proveobstinate and refuse to leavehis hiding-place. The Rajahwouldnotcommithimself toa definite promise, andanxiously pressed Babalatchito go, being afraid of thewhite men paying him anunexpected visit. The agedstatesmanreluctantlytookhisleave and went into the

courtyard.Before going down to his

boatBabalatchistoppedforawhile in the big open spacewhere the thick-leaved treesput black patches of shadowwhich seemed to float on afloodofsmooth,intenselightthat rolled up to the housesanddowntothestockadeandovertheriver,whereitbrokeand sparkled in thousands ofglittering wavelets, like abandwovenofazureandgold

edgedwiththebrilliantgreenof the forests guarding bothbanks of the Pantai. In theperfect calm before thecoming of the afternoonbreeze the irregularly jaggedline of tree-tops stoodunchanging,asiftracedbyanunsteady hand on the clearblue of the hot sky. In thespace sheltered by the highpalisades there lingered thesmell of decaying blossomsfromthesurroundingforest,a

taintofdryingfish;withnowand then a whiff of acridsmokefromthecookingfireswhen it eddied down fromunder the leafy boughs andclung lazily about the burnt-upgrass.AsBabalatchilookedupat

the flagstaff over-topping agroup of low trees in themiddle of the courtyard, thetricolour flag of theNetherlands stirred slightlyfor the first time since it had

beenhoisted thatmorningonthearrivalof theman-of-warboats. With a faint rustle oftreesthebreezecamedowninlight puffs, playingcapriciously for a time withthis emblem of Lakamba’spower,thatwasalsothemarkof his servitude; then thebreeze freshened in a sharpgust of wind, and the flagflew out straight and steadyabove the trees. A darkshadow ran along the river,

rolling over and covering upthe sparkle of decliningsunlight. A big white cloudsailed slowly across thedarkening sky, and hung tothewestwardasifwaitingforthe sun to join it there.Menand things shook off thetorpor of the hot afternoonandstirredintolifeunder thefirstbreathoftheseabreeze.Babalatchihurrieddownto

the water-gate; yet before hepassedthroughithepausedto

look round the courtyard,with its lightandshade,withits cheery fires, with thegroupsofLakamba’ssoldiersand retainers scattered about.Hisownhousestoodamongstthe other buildings in thatenclosure, and the statesmanofSambiraskedhimselfwithasinkingheartwhenandhowwould it be given him toreturn to that house. He hadto deal with a man moredangerous than any wild

beast of his experience: aproudman,amanwilfulafterthemannerofprinces,amanin love. And he was goingforth to speak to that manwords of cold and worldlywisdom. Could anything bemore appalling?What if thatman should take umbrage atsome fancied slight to hishonour or disregard of hisaffections and suddenly“amok”? The wise adviserwould be the first victim, no

doubt,anddeathwouldbehisreward. And underlying thehorror of this situation therewas the danger of thosemeddlesome fools, the whitemen.Avisionofcomfortlessexile in far-off Madura roseup before Babalatchi.Wouldn’t that be worse thandeath itself? And there wasthat half-white woman withthreatening eyes. How couldhe tell what anincomprehensible creature of

that sortwould orwould notdo? She knew so much thatshemade the killing ofDainan impossibility. That muchwas certain. And yet thesharp, rough-edged kriss is agood and discreet friend,thought Babalatchi, as heexamined his own lovingly,andput itback in thesheath,with a sigh of regret, beforeunfastening his canoe.As hecast off the painter, pushedout into the stream, and took

up his paddle, he realisedvividly how unsatisfactory itwastohavewomenmixedupin state affairs. Youngwomen, of course. For Mrs.Almayer’s mature wisdom,and for the easy aptitude inintriguethatcomeswithyearsto the femininemind, he feltthemostsincererespect.He paddled leisurely,

letting the canoe drift downas he crossed towards thepoint. The sunwas high yet,

and nothing pressed. Hiswork would commence onlywith the comingof darkness.Avoiding the Lingard jetty,he rounded the point, andpaddled up the creek at theback of Almayer’s house.There were many canoeslying there, their noses alldrawn together, fastened allto the samestake.Babalatchipushed his little craft inamongstthemandsteppedonshore.Ontheothersideofthe

ditchsomethingmovedinthegrass.“Who’s that hiding?”

hailedBabalatchi.“Comeoutandspeaktome.”Nobody answered.

Babalatchi crossed over,passing from boat to boat,and poked his staff viciouslyin the suspicious place.Taminah jumped up with acry.“What are you doing

here?”heasked,surprised.“I

have nearly stepped on yourtray. Am I a Dyak that youshouldhideatmysight?”“I was weary, and—I

slept,” whispered Taminah,confusedly.“You slept! You have not

soldanythingto-day,andyouwill be beaten when youreturn home,” saidBabalatchi.Taminah stood before him

abashed and silent.Babalatchi looked her over

carefully with greatsatisfaction. Decidedly hewouldofferfiftydollarsmoretothatthiefBulangi.Thegirlpleasedhim.“Now you go home. It is

late,” he said sharply. “TellBulangi that I shall be nearhis house before the night ishalfover,andthatIwanthimtomakeallthingsreadyforalong journey. Youunderstand? A long journeyto the southward. Tell him

thatbeforesunset,anddonotforgetmywords.”Taminahmadeagestureof

assent, and watchedBabalatchi recross the ditchand disappear through thebushes bordering Almayer’scompound.Shemovedalittlefurtheroffthecreekandsankinthegrassagain,lyingdownonherface,shiveringindry-eyedmisery.Babalatchi walked straight

towards the cooking-shed

looking for Mrs. Almayer.The courtyardwas in a greatuproar. A strange Chinamanhadpossessionofthekitchenfire and was noisilydemandinganothersaucepan.Hehurledobjurgations,intheCanton dialect and badMalay, against the group ofslave-girls standing a littleway off, half frightened, halfamused,athisviolence.Fromthe camping fires roundwhich the seamen of the

frigate were sitting camewords of encouragement,mingled with laughter andjeering. In the midst of thisnoise and confusionBabalatchimetAli,anemptydishinhishand.“Where are the white

men?”askedBabalatchi.“They are eating in the

front verandah,” answeredAli.“Donotstopme,Tuan.Iamgivingthewhitementheirfoodandambusy.”

“Where’sMemAlmayer?”“Insideinthepassage.She

islisteningtothetalk.”Aligrinnedandpassedon;

Babalatchi ascended theplankway to the rearverandah, and beckoning outMrs.Almayer,engagedherinearnest conversation.Through the long passage,closed at the further end bythe red curtain, they couldhear from time to timeAlmayer’s voice mingling in

conversation with an abruptloudness that made Mrs.Almayer look significantly atBabalatchi.“Listen,”shesaid.“Hehas

drunkmuch.”“He has,” whispered

Babalatchi. “He will sleepheavilyto-night.”Mrs. Almayer looked

doubtful.“Sometimes the devil of

strong gin makes him keepawake, and he walks up and

down the verandah all night,cursing; then we stand afaroff,” explained Mrs.Almayer, with the fullerknowledge born of twentyoddyearsofmarriedlife.“Butthenhedoesnothear,

norunderstand,andhishand,of course, has no strength.We do notwant him to hearto-night.”“No,” assented Mrs.

Almayer,energetically,butina cautiously subdued voice.

“Ifhehearshewillkill.”Babalatchi looked

incredulous.“Hai Tuan, you may

believeme.Have I not livedmany years with that man?Have Inot seendeath in thatman’s eyes more than oncewhen I was younger and heguessed atmany things.Hadhe been a man of my ownpeopleIwouldnothaveseensuchalooktwice;buthe—”With a contemptuous

gesture she seemed to flingunutterable scorn onAlmayer’s weak-mindedaversion to suddenbloodshed.“Ifhehas thewishbutnot

thestrength,thenwhatdowefear?”askedBabalatchi,aftera short silence during whichthey both listened toAlmayer’s loud talk till itsubsided into the murmur ofgeneral conversation. “Whatdo we fear?” repeated

Babalatchiagain.“To keep the daughter

whom he loves he wouldstrike into your heart andminewithouthesitation,”saidMrs.Almayer.“Whenthegirlis gone he will be like thedevil unchained. Then youandIhadbetterbeware.”“Iamanoldmanand fear

not death,” answeredBabalatchi, with amendacious assumption ofindifference. “But what will

youdo?”“I am an old woman, and

wish to live,” retorted Mrs.Almayer. “She is mydaughter also. I shall seeksafetyatthefeetofourRajah,speaking in the name of thepast when we both wereyoung,andhe—”Babalatchiraisedhishand.“Enough. You shall be

protected,” he saidsoothingly.Again the sound of

Almayer’s voice was heard,and again interrupting theirtalk, they listened to theconfused but loud utterancecoming in bursts of unequalstrength, with unexpectedpauses and noisy repetitionsthat made some words andsentences fall clear anddistinct on their ears out ofthe meaningless jumble ofexcitedshoutingsemphasisedby the thumping ofAlmayer’sfistuponthetable.

On the short intervals ofsilence, thehighcomplainingnote of tumblers, standingclose together and vibratingto the shock, lingered,growingfainter,tillitleaptupagain into tumultuousringing, when a new ideastarted a new rush of wordsand brought down the heavyhand again. At last thequarrelsome shouting ceased,and the thin plaint ofdisturbed glass died away

intoreluctantquietude.Babalatchi and Mrs.

Almayer had listenedcuriously, their bodies bentand their ears turned towardsthe passage. At every loudershout they nodded at eachother with a ridiculousaffectation of scandalisedpropriety, and they remainedin thesameattitudeforsometime after the noise hadceased.“This is the devil of gin,”

whispered Mrs. Almayer.“Yes; he talks like thatsometimes when there isnobodytohearhim.”“What does he say?”

inquired Babalatchi, eagerly.“Yououghttounderstand.”“Ihaveforgottentheirtalk.

A little I understood. Hespokewithout any respect ofthe white ruler in Batavia,andofprotection,andsaidhehad been wronged; he saidthatseveraltimes.MoreIdid

notunderstand.Listen!Againhespeaks!”“Tse! tse! tse!” clicked

Babalatchi, trying to appearshocked, but with a joyoustwinkle of his solitary eye.“There will be great troublebetween those white men. Iwill go round now and see.You tell your daughter thatthere is a sudden and a longjourney before her, withmuch glory and splendour atthe end. And tell her that

Dainmustgo,orhemustdie,andthathewillnotgoalone.”“No,hewillnotgoalone,”

slowly repeated Mrs.Almayer, with a thoughtfulair, as she crept into thepassage after seeingBabalatchi disappear roundthecornerofthehouse.The statesman of Sambir,

under the impulse of vividcuriosity, made his wayquickly to the front of thehouse, but once there he

moved slowly and cautiouslyashecreptstepbystepupthestairsoftheverandah.Onthehighest step he sat downquietly, his feet on the stepsbelow,readyforflightshouldhis presence proveunwelcome. He felt prettysafe so. The table stoodnearly endways to him, andhe saw Almayer’s back; atNinahelookedfullface,andhad a side view of bothofficers; but of the four

persons sitting at the tableonly Nina and the youngerofficer noticed his noiselessarrival. The momentarydropping of Nina’s eyelidsacknowledged Babalatchi’spresence; she then spoke atonce to the young sub, whoturned towards her withattentivealacrity,buthergazewas fastened steadily on herfather’s face while Almayerwasspeakinguproariously.“ … disloyalty and

unscrupulousness!Whathaveyou ever done to make meloyal? You have no grip onthis country. I had to takecare of myself, and when Iasked for protection I wasmet with threats andcontempt, and had Arabslanderthrowninmyface.I!awhiteman!”“Don’t be violent,

Almayer,” remonstrated thelieutenant; “I have heard allthisalready.”

“Then why do you talk tome about scruples? I wantedmoney,andIgavepowderinexchange.HowcouldIknowthat some of your wretchedmenwere going to be blownup?Scruples!Pah!”He groped unsteadily

amongst the bottles, tryingone after another, grumblingtohimselfthewhile.“No more wine,” he

muttereddiscontentedly.“You have had enough,

Almayer,”saidthelieutenant,ashelightedacigar.“Isitnottime to deliver to us yourprisoner? I take it you havethat Dain Maroola stowedaway safely somewhere.Stillwe had better get thatbusiness over, and then weshallhavemoredrink.Come!don’tlookatmelikethis.”Almayer was staring with

stony eyes, his tremblingfingers fumbling about histhroat.

“Gold,” he said withdifficulty. “Hem! A hand onthewindpipe,youknow.Sureyouwill excuse. I wanted tosay—a little gold for a littlepowder.What’sthat?”“Iknow,Iknow,”said the

lieutenantsoothingly.“No!Youdon’tknow.Not

one of you knows!” shoutedAlmayer.“Thegovernmentisa fool, I tell you. Heaps ofgold. I am the man thatknows;Iandanotherone.But

hewon’tspeak.Heis—”Hecheckedhimselfwitha

feeble smile, and,making anunsuccessful attempt to patthe officer on the shoulder,knocked over a couple ofemptybottles.“Personally you are a fine

fellow,” he said verydistinctly, in a patronisingmanner. His head noddeddrowsily as he sat mutteringtohimself.The two officers looked at

eachotherhelplessly.“This won’t do,” said the

lieutenant, addressing hisjunior. “Have the menmustered in the compoundhere. I must get some senseout of him. Hi! Almayer!Wakeup,man.Redeemyourword. You gave your word.You gave your word ofhonour,youknow.”Almayer shook off the

officer’s hand withimpatience, but his ill-

humourvanishedatonce,andhe looked up, putting hisforefinger to the side of hisnose.“Youareveryyoung;there

istimeforallthings,”hesaid,withanairofgreatsagacity.The lieutenant turned

towards Nina, who, leaningbackinherchair,watchedherfathersteadily.“Really I am very much

distressedbyall thisforyoursake,”heexclaimed.“Idonot

know;”hewenton, speakingwith some embarrassment,“whether I have any right toask you anything, unless,perhaps, to withdraw fromthis painful scene, but I feelthatImust—foryourfather’sgood—suggest that youshould—I mean if you haveany influence over him yououghttoexertitnowtomakehimkeepthepromisehegaveme before he—before he gotintothisstate.”

He observed withdiscouragement that sheseemednottotakeanynoticeof what he said sitting stillwithhalf-closedeyes.“Itrust—”hebeganagain.“What is the promise you

speak of?” abruptly askedNina, leaving her seat andmovingtowardsherfather.“Nothing that is not just

and proper. He promised todeliver to us a man who intime of profound peace took

the lives of innocent men toescape the punishment hedeserved for breaking thelaw.Heplannedhismischiefon a large scale. It is not hisfault if it failed, partially.Ofcourse you have heard ofDain Maroola. Your fathersecured him, I understand.Weknowhe escaped up thisriver.Perhapsyou—”“And he killed white

men!”interruptedNina.“I regret to say they were

white. Yes, two white menlost their lives through thatscoundrel’sfreak.”“Two only!” exclaimed

Nina.Theofficerlookedatherin

amazement.“Why! why! You—” he

stammered,confused.“There might have been

more,” interrupted Nina.“Andwhenyougetthis—thisscoundrelwillyougo?”The lieutenant, still

speechless,bowedhisassent.“Then Iwouldgethimfor

you if Ihad toseekhim inaburning fire,” she burst outwith intense energy. “I hatethesightofyourwhitefaces.I hate the sound of yourgentlevoices.Thatisthewayyou speak to women,dropping sweetwords beforeany pretty face. I have heardyourvoicesbefore.Ihopedtolive here without seeing anyotherwhitefacebutthis,”she

added in a gentler tone,touching lightly her father’scheek.Almayer ceased his

mumbling and opened hiseyes. He caught hold of hisdaughter’s hand and pressedittohisface,whileNinawiththe other hand smoothed hisrumpled grey hair, lookingdefiantly over her father’shead at the officer, who hadnow regained his composureand returned her lookwith a

cool, steady stare. Below, infront of the verandah, theycould hear the tramp ofseamen mustering thereaccordingtoorders.Thesub-lieutenant came up the steps,while Babalatchi stood upuneasily and, with finger onlip,triedtocatchNina’seye.“You are a good girl,”

whisperedAlmayer,absently,droppinghisdaughter’shand.“Father! father!”shecried,

bending over him with

passionate entreaty. “Seethose twomen lookingat us.Send them away. I cannotbear it anymore. Send themaway.Dowhattheywantandletthemgo.”She caught sight of

Babalatchi and ceasedspeaking suddenly, but herfoot tapped the floor withrapid beats in a paroxysm ofnervousrestlessness.Thetwoofficers stood close togetherlookingoncuriously.

“What has happened?What is the matter?”whisperedtheyoungerman.“Don’t know,” answered

the other, under his breath.“Oneisfurious,andtheotherisdrunk.Notsodrunk,either.Queer,this.Look!”Almayerhadrisen,holding

on to his daughter’s arm.Hehesitated a moment, then helet go his hold and lurchedhalf-wayacrosstheverandah.There he pulled himself

together, and stood verystraight, breathing hard andglaringroundangrily.“Are the men ready?”

askedthelieutenant.“Allready,sir.”“Now, Mr. Almayer, lead

theway,”saidthelieutenantAlmayerrestedhiseyeson

himas if he sawhim for thefirsttime.“Two men,” he said

thickly. The effort ofspeaking seemed to interfere

withhisequilibrium.Hetooka quick step to save himselffrom a fall, and remainedswaying backwards andforwards. “Two men,” hebegan again, speaking withdifficulty.“Twowhitemen—men in uniform—honourablemen. I want to say—men ofhonour.Areyou?”“Come!Noneofthat,”said

the officer impatiently. “Letushavethatfriendofyours.”“WhatdoyouthinkIam?”

askedAlmayer,fiercely.“Youaredrunk,butnotso

drunk as not to know whatyouaredoing.Enoughofthistomfoolery,” said the officersternly, “or I will have youput under arrest in your ownhouse.”“Arrest!” laughed

Almayer, discordantly. “Ha!ha! ha! Arrest! Why, I havebeen trying to get out of thisinfernal place for twentyyears, and I can’t. You hear,

man!Ican’t,andnevershall!Never!”Heendedhiswordswitha

sob, and walked unsteadilydown the stairs.When in thecourtyard the lieutenantapproached him, and tookhim by the arm. The sub-lieutenant and Babalatchifollowedclose.“That’s better, Almayer,”

said the officerencouragingly. “Where areyougoing to?Thereareonly

planks there. Here,” he wenton, shakinghimslightly, “dowewanttheboats?”“No,” answered Almayer,

viciously. “You want agrave.”“What?Wildagain!Tryto

talksense.”“Grave!” roared Almayer,

strugglingtogethimselffree.“Ahole in theground.Don’tyouunderstand?Youmustbedrunk. Let me go! Let go, Itellyou!”

He tore away from theofficer’s grasp, and reeledtowards theplankswhere thebody lay under its whitecover; then he turned roundquickly, and faced thesemicircleofinterestedfaces.The sunwas sinking rapidly,throwing long shadows ofhouse and trees over thecourtyard, but the lightlingered yet on the river,where the logs went driftingpast in midstream, looking

verydistinctandblack in thepale red glow. The trunks ofthe trees in the forest on theeastbankwere lost ingloomwhile their highest branchesswayed gently in thedeparting sunlight. The airfelt heavy and cold in thebreeze, expiring in slightpuffs that came over thewater.Almayer shivered as he

made an effort to speak, andagain with an uncertain

gestureheseemed to freehisthroat from the grip of aninvisiblehand.Hisbloodshoteyes wandered aimlesslyfromfacetoface.“There!” he said at last.

“Are you all there? He is adangerousman.”He dragged at the cover

with hasty violence, and thebody rolled stiffly off theplanks and fell at his feet inrigidhelplessness.“Cold,perfectlycold,”said

Almayer, looking roundwithamirthless smile. “Sorry cando no better. And you can’thang him, either. As youobserve, gentlemen,” headded gravely, “there is nohead,andhardlyanyneck.”The last ray of light was

snatchedaway from the tree-tops, the rivergrewsuddenlydark,andinthegreatstillnessthe murmur of the flowingwater seemed to fill the vastexpanse of grey shadow that

descendedupontheland.“This is Dain,” went on

Almayer to the silent groupthat surrounded him. “And Ihavekeptmyword.Firstonehope,thenanother,andthisismy last.Nothing is left now.You think there is one deadman here? Mistake, I ’sureyou. I am much more dead.Whydon’tyouhangme?”hesuggested suddenly, in afriendly tone, addressing thelieutenant. “I assure, assure

you it would be a mat—matter of form altog—altogether.”These last words he

muttered to himself, andwalkedzigzagingtowardshishouse. “Get out!” hethundered at Ali, who wasapproaching timidly withoffers of assistance. Fromafar, scared groups of menand women watched hisdeviousprogress.Hedraggedhimself up the stairs by the

banister, and managed toreach a chair into which hefellheavily.Hesatforawhilepanting with exertion andanger, and looking roundvaguely for Nina; thenmaking a threatening gesturetowardsthecompound,wherehe had heard Babalatchi’svoice,heoverturnedthetablewithhis foot in agreat crashof smashed crockery. Hemuttered yet menacingly tohimself, thenhisheadfellon

his breast, his eyes closed,and with a deep sigh he fellasleep.That night—for the first

time in its history—thepeaceful and flourishingsettlementofSambir saw thelights shining about“Almayer’s Folly.” Thesewerethelanternsoftheboatshungupbytheseamenunderthe verandah where the twoofficerswere holding a courtofinquiryintothetruthofthe

story related to them byBabalatchi. Babalatchi hadregained all his importance.He was eloquent andpersuasive, calling HeavenandEarthtowitnessthetruthofhisstatements.Therewerealsootherwitnesses.MahmatBanjer and a good manyothers underwent a closeexamination that dragged itsweary length far into theevening. A messenger wassent for Abdulla, who

excusedhimselffromcomingon the scoreofhisvenerableage,butsentReshid.Mahmathad to produce the bangle,and saw with rage andmortification the lieutenantputitinhispocket,asoneoftheproofsofDain’sdeath,tobe sent in with the officialreport of the mission.Babalatchi’s ring was alsoimpounded for the samepurpose, but the experiencedstatesman was resigned to

that loss from the verybeginning. He did not mindas long as he was sure, thatthe white men believed. Heput that question to himselfearnestlyasheleft,oneofthelast, when the proceedingscame to a close. Hewas notcertain.Still, if theybelievedonlyforanight,hewouldputDain beyond their reach andfeel safe himself. He walkedaway fast, looking from timeto time over his shoulder in

the fear of being followed,buthesawandheardnothing.“Ten o’clock,” said the

lieutenant, looking at hiswatch and yawning. “I shallhear some of the captain’scomplimentaryremarkswhenwe get back. Miserablebusiness,this.”“Do you think all this is

true?” asked the youngerman.“True! It is just possible.

But if it isn’t true what can

we do? If we had a dozenboats we could patrol thecreeks; and that wouldn’t bemuch good. That drunkenmadman was right; wehaven’t enough hold on thiscoast.Theydowhattheylike.Areourhammocksslung?”“Yes, I told the coxswain.

Strange couple over there,”said the sub, with a wave ofhis hand towards Almayer’shouse.“Hem! Queer, certainly.

What have you been tellingher? I was attending to thefathermostofthetime.”“I assure you I have been

perfectly civil,” protested theotherwarmly.“All right. Don’t get

excited. She objects tocivility, then, from what Iunderstand. I thought youmight havebeen tender.Youknowweareonservice.”“Well, of course. Never

forget that. Coldly civil.

That’sall.”They both laughed a little,

and not feeling sleepy beganto pace the verandah side byside.Themoonrosestealthilyabovethetrees,andsuddenlychanged the river into astream of scintillating silver.The forest came out of theblack void and stood sombreand pensive over thesparkling water. The breezedied away into a breathlesscalm.

Seamanlike, the twoofficers tramped measuredlyup and down withoutexchangingaword.Thelooseplanks rattled rhythmicallyunder their steps withobstrusive dry sound in theperfect silence of the night.Astheywerewheelingroundagain the youngerman stoodattentive.“Did you hear that?” he

asked.“No!”saidtheother.“Hear

what?”“I thought I heard a cry.

Ever so faint. Seemed awoman’s voice. In that otherhouse.Ah!Again!Hearit?”“No,” said the lieutenant,

after listening awhile. “Youyoung fellows always hearwomen’s voices. If you aregoingtodreamyouhadbetterget into your hammock.Good-night.”Themoonmountedhigher,

and the warm shadows grew

smaller and crept away as ifhiding before the cold andcruellight.

10Chapter

“Ithas set at last,” saidNinato her mother pointingtowards the hills behindwhich the sun had sunk.“Listen, mother, I am goingnow to Bulangi’s creek, and

ifIshouldneverreturn—”Sheinterruptedherself,and

somethinglikedoubtdimmedfor a moment the fire ofsuppressedexaltationthathadglowed in her eyes and hadilluminated the sereneimpassivenessofher featureswitharayofeagerlifeduringall that long day ofexcitement—the day of joyand anxiety, of hope andterror, of vague grief andindistinct delight. While the

sun shone with that dazzlinglight in which her love wasborn and grew till itpossessed her whole being,she was kept firm in herunwavering resolve by themysterious whisperings ofdesire which filled her heartwithimpatientlongingforthedarknessthatwouldmeantheend of danger and strife, thebeginning of happiness, thefulfilling of love, thecompleteness of life. It had

set at last!The short tropicaltwilight went out before shecoulddrawthelongbreathofrelief; and now the suddendarknessseemedtobefullofmenacingvoicescallinguponher to rushheadlong into theunknown; to be true to herownimpulses, togiveherselfup to the passion she hadevoked and shared. He waswaiting!Inthesolitudeofthesecluded clearing, in thevastsilence of the forest he was

waiting alone, a fugitive infear of his life. Indifferent tohisdangerhewaswaitingforher. It was for her only thathehadcome;andnowas thetime approached when heshould have his reward, sheasked herself with dismaywhat meant that chillingdoubtofherownwillandofher own desire? With aneffort she shook off the fearof the passing weakness. Heshould have his reward. Her

woman’s love and herwoman’s honour overcamethe faltering distrust of thatunknown future waiting forher in the darkness of theriver.“No, you will not return,”

muttered Mrs. Almayer,prophetically.“Without you he will not

go,andifheremainshere—”Shewaved her hand towardsthe lights of “Almayer’sFolly,” and the unfinished

sentence died out in athreateningmurmur.The two women had met

behind the house, and nowwerewalkingslowlytogethertowards the creek where allthe canoes were moored.Arrived at the fringe ofbushes they stopped by acommon impulse, and Mrs.Almayer, laying her hand onher daughter’s arm, tried invain to look close into thegirl’savertedface.Whenshe

attempted to speak her firstwords were lost in a stifledsob that sounded strangelycoming from that womanwho, of all human passions,seemedtoknowonlythoseofangerandhate.“Youaregoingawaytobe

a great Ranee,” she said atlast, in a voice that wassteady enough now, “and ifyou be wise you shall havemuch power thatwill enduremanydays,andevenlastinto

your old age. What have Ibeen?Aslaveallmylife,andIhavecooked rice foramanwho had no courage and nowisdom. Hai! I! even I, wasgiveningiftbyachiefandawarrior to a man that wasneither.Hai!Hai!”She wailed to herself

softly, lamenting the lostpossibilities of murder andmischief that could havefallentoher lothadshebeenmatedwithacongenialspirit.

Nina bent down over Mrs.Almayer’s slight form andscannedattentively,underthestars that had rushed out onthe black sky and now hungbreathless over that strangeparting, her mother’sshrivelled features, andlooked close into the sunkeneyes that could see into herown dark future by the lightof a long and a painfulexperience. Again she feltherself fascinated, as of old,

byhermother’sexaltedmoodand by the oracular certaintyofexpressionwhich,togetherwithher fits ofviolence, hadcontributed not a little to thereputation for witchcraft sheenjoyedinthesettlement.“I was a slave, and you

shall be a queen,” went onMrs. Almayer, lookingstraight before her; “butremembermen’sstrengthandtheir weakness. Tremble

before his anger, so that hemayseeyourfearinthelightofday;but inyourheartyoumaylaugh,foraftersunsetheisyourslave.”“A slave! He! The master

oflife!Youdonotknowhim,mother.”Mrs. Almayer

condescended to laughcontemptuously.“Youspeaklikeafoolofa

white woman,” sheexclaimed. “What do you

know of men’s anger and ofmen’s love? Have youwatched the sleep of menwearyofdealingdeath?Haveyou felt aboutyou the strongarm that could drive a krissdeep into a beating heart?Yah!youareawhitewoman,and ought to pray to awoman-god!”“Why do you say this? I

have listened to your wordsso long that I have forgottenmy old life. If I was white

would I stand here, ready togo?Mother, I shall return tothehouseandlookoncemoreatmyfather’sface.”“No!” said Mrs. Almayer,

violently.“No,hesleepsnowthe sleep of gin; and if youwent back he might awakeand see you. No, he shallnever see you. When theterrible old man took youaway from me when youwerelittle,youremember—”“It was such a long time

ago,”murmuredNina.“I remember,” went on

Mrs. Almayer, fiercely. “Iwanted to look at your faceagain.Hesaidno!Iheardyoucryandjumpedintotheriver.You were his daughter then;you are my daughter now.Never shall you go back tothat house; you shall nevercross this courtyard again.No!no!”Hervoice rose almost to a

shout.Ontheothersideofthe

creektherewasarustleinthelong grass. The two womenheard it, and listened for awhile in startled silence. “Ishall go,” said Nina, in acautious but intensewhisper.“What is your hate or yourrevengetome?”She moved towards the

house,Mrs.Almayerclingingto her and trying to pull herback.“Stop, you shall not go!”

shegasped.

Nina pushed away hermother impatiently andgathered up her skirts for aquick run, butMrs. Almayerranforwardandturnedround,facing her daughter withoutstretchedarms.“If you move another

step,” she exclaimed,breathingquickly,“Ishallcryout. Do you see those lightsin the big house? There sittwo white men, angrybecause theycannothave the

blood of the man you love.And in those dark houses,”she continued, more calmlyas she pointed towards thesettlement, “my voice couldwakeupmenthatwouldleadthe Orang Blanda soldiers tohim who is waiting—foryou.”She could not see her

daughter’sface,butthewhitefigure before her stood silentandirresoluteinthedarkness.Mrs. Almayer pursued her

advantage.“Give up your old life!

Forget!” she said inentreating tones. “Forget thatyou ever looked at a whiteface; forget their words;forget their thoughts. Theyspeaklies.Andtheythinkliesbecause they despise us thatare better than they are, butnot so strong. Forget theirfriendshipandtheircontempt;forget their many gods. Girl,why do you want to

rememberthepastwhenthereisawarriorandachiefreadyto givemany lives—his ownlife—foroneofyoursmiles?”While she spoke she

pushed gently her daughtertowards the canoes, hidingher own fear, anxiety, anddoubt under the flood ofpassionate words that leftNinano time to thinkandnoopportunitytoprotest,evenifshehadwishedit.Butshedidnot wish it now. At the

bottomof that passing desireto look again at her father’sface there was no strongaffection.Shefeltnoscruplesand no remorse at leavingsuddenly that man whosesentimenttowardsherselfshecould not understand, shecouldnotevensee.Therewasonlyaninstinctiveclingingtoold life, to old habits, to oldfaces; that fear of finalitywhich lurks in every humanbreast and prevents so many

heroismsandsomanycrimes.For years she had stoodbetween her mother and herfather, the one so strong inher weakness, the other soweak where he could havebeen strong. Between thosetwo beings so dissimilar, soantagonistic, she stood withmute heart wondering andangry at the fact of her ownexistence. It seemed sounreasonable, so humiliatingto be flung there in that

settlementandtoseethedaysrushbyintothepast,withouta hope, a desire, or an aimthatwouldjustifythelifeshehad to endure in ever-growing weariness. She hadlittle belief and no sympathyfor her father’s dreams; butthe savage ravings of hermother chanced to strike aresponsive chord, deep downsomewhere in her despairingheart; and she dreameddreams of her own with the

persistent absorption of acaptive thinking of libertywithinthewallsofhisprisoncell.WiththecomingofDainshefoundtheroadtofreedomby obeying the voice of thenew-born impulses, andwithsurprised joyshe thoughtshecould read in his eyes theanswertoallthequestioningsof her heart. She understoodnowthereasonandtheaimoflife; and in the triumphantunveilingof thatmysteryshe

threw away disdainfully herpastwith itssad thoughts, itsbitter feelings, and its faintaffections, nowwithered anddead in contact with herfiercepassion.Mrs. Almayer unmoored

Nina’s own canoe and,straightening herselfpainfully, stood, painter inhand,lookingatherdaughter.“Quick,” she said; “get

away before the moon rises,while the river is dark. I am

afraid of Abdulla’s slaves.The wretches prowl in thenight often, and might seeand follow you. There aretwopaddlesinthecanoe.”Nina approached her

mother and hesitatinglytouched lightly with her lipsthe wrinkled forehead. Mrs.Almayer snortedcontemptuously in protestagainst that tendernesswhichshe, nevertheless, fearedcouldbecontagious.

“ShallIeverseeyouagain,mother?”murmuredNina.“No,” said Mrs. Almayer,

after a short silence. “Whyshouldyoureturnherewhereit ismyfatetodie?Youwilllive far away in splendourand might. When I hear ofwhite men driven from theislands,thenIshallknowthatyou are alive, and that youremembermywords.”“Ishallalwaysremember,”

returnedNina,earnestly;“but

whereismypower,andwhatcanIdo?”“Do not let him look too

longinyoureyes,norlayhishead on your knees withoutreminding him that menshould fight before they rest.And if he lingers, give himhiskrissyourselfandbidhimgo, as the wife of a mightyprince should do when theenemies are near. Let himslaythewhitementhatcometoustotrade,withprayerson

their lips and loaded guns intheirhands.Ah!”—sheendedwith a sigh—“they are onevery sea, and on everyshore; and they are verymany!”She swung the bow of the

canoe towards the river, butdid not let go the gunwale,keeping her hand on it inirresolutethoughtfulness.Nina put the point of the

paddle against the bank,ready to shove off into the

stream.“What is it, mother?” she

asked, in a low voice. “Doyouhearanything?”“No,” said Mrs. Almayer,

absently. “Listen, Nina,” shecontinued, abruptly, after aslight pause, “in after yearstherewillbeotherwomen—”A stifled cry in the boat

interrupted her, and thepaddlerattledinthecanoeasit slipped fromNina’shands,which she put out in a

protesting gesture. Mrs.Almayerfellonherkneesonthebankand leanedover thegunwale so as to bring herown face close to herdaughter’s.“There will be other

women,”sherepeatedfirmly;“I tell you that, because youarehalfwhite,andmayforgetthat he is a great chief, andthat such things must be.Hide your anger, and do notlet him see on your face the

pain that will eat your heart.Meet him with joy in youreyes and wisdom on yourlips,fortoyouhewillturninsadness or in doubt.As longas he looks upon manywomen your powerwill last,but should there be one, oneonlywithwhomhe seems toforgetyou,then—”“I could not live,”

exclaimedNina,coveringherfacewithbothherhands.“Donotspeakso,mother;itcould

notbe.”“Then,” went on Mrs.

Almayer, steadily, “to thatwoman, Nina, show nomercy.”Shemovedthecanoedown

towards the stream by thegunwale, and gripped it withboth her hands, the bowpointingintotheriver.“Are you crying?” she

askedsternlyofherdaughter,who sat still with coveredface. “Arise, and take your

paddle,forhehaswaitedlongenough. And remember,Nina, no mercy; and if youmust strike, strike with asteadyhand.”Sheputoutallherstrength,

and swinging her body overthewater, shot the light craftfarintothestream.Whensherecovered herself from theeffortshetriedvainlytocatcha glimpse of the canoe thatseemed to have dissolvedsuddenly into the white mist

trailing over the heatedwaters of the Pantai. Afterlistening for a while intentlyon her knees, Mrs. Almayerrose with a deep sigh, whiletwo tears wandered slowlydown her withered cheeks.She wiped them off quicklywith a wisp of her grey hairas if ashamed of herself, butcould not stifle another loudsigh, forherheartwasheavyandshesufferedmuch,beingunused to tender emotions.

Thistimeshefanciedshehadheard a faint noise, like theechoofherownsigh,andshestopped, straining her ears tocatchtheslightestsound,andpeering apprehensivelytowardsthebushesnearher.“Whoisthere?”sheasked,

in an unsteady voice, whileher imagination peopled thesolitude of the riversidewithghost-like forms. “Who isthere?”sherepeatedfaintly.Therewasnoanswer:only

the voice of the rivermurmuring in sad monotonebehind thewhiteveilseemedtoswelllouderforamoment,to die away again in a softwhisper of eddies washingagainstthebank.Mrs. Almayer shook her

head as if in answer to herown thoughts, and walkedquickly away from thebushes, looking to the rightandleftwatchfully.Shewentstraight towards the cooking-

shed, observing that theembers of the fire thereglowed more brightly thanusual, as if somebody hadbeen adding fresh fuel to thefires during the evening. Asshe approached, Babalatchi,whohadbeensquattinginthewarmglow,roseandmetherintheshadowoutside.“Is she gone?” asked the

anxiousstatesman,hastily.“Yes,” answered Mrs.

Almayer.“Whatarethewhite

men doing? When did youleavethem?”“They are sleeping now, I

think.Maytheyneverwake!”exclaimed Babalatchi,fervently. “Oh! but they aredevils, and made much talkandtroubleoverthatcarcase.Thechiefthreatenedmetwicewith his hand, and said hewould have me tied up to atree. Tie me up to a tree!Me!”herepeated,strikinghisbreastviolently.

Mrs. Almayer laughedtauntingly.“And you salaamed and

asked for mercy. Men witharms by their side actedotherwise when I wasyoung.”“And where are they, the

menofyouryouth?Youmadwoman!”retortedBabalatchi,angrily.“KilledbytheDutch.Aha! But I shall live todeceive them. Aman knowswhentofightandwhentotell

peaceful lies. You wouldknow that if you were not awoman.”ButMrs. Almayer did not

seem to hear him.With bentbody and outstretched armshe appeared to be listeningto some noise behind theshed.“There are strange

sounds,” shewhispered,withevident alarm. “I have heardintheair thesoundsofgrief,as of a sigh and weeping.

That was by the riverside.AndnowagainIheard—”“Where?” asked

Babalatchi, in an alteredvoice.“Whatdidyouhear?”“Close here. It was like a

breath long drawn. I wish Ihad burnt the paper over thebodybeforeitwasburied.”“Yes,” assented

Babalatchi. “But the whitemen had him thrown into ahole at once. You know hefoundhisdeathontheriver,”

headdedcheerfully,“andhisghost may hail the canoes,but would leave the landalone.”Mrs. Almayer, who had

beencraninghernecktolookround the cornerof the shed,drewbackherhead.“There is nobody there,”

she said, reassured. “Is it nottimefor theRajahwar-canoetogototheclearing?”“Ihavebeenwaiting for it

here, for I myself must go,”

explainedBabalatchi.“IthinkI will go over and see whatmakes them late. When willyou come? The Rajah givesyourefuge.”“Ishallpaddleoverbefore

the break of day. I cannotleave my dollars behind,”mutteredMrs.Almayer.Theyseparated.Babalatchi

crossedthecourtyardtowardsthecreektogethiscanoe,andMrs.Almayerwalked slowlyto the house, ascended the

plankway, and passingthrough the back verandahenteredthepassageleadingtothe front of the house; butbeforegoing in she turned inthedoorwayandlookedbackat the empty and silentcourtyard, now lit up by therays of the rising moon. Nosooner she had disappeared,however, than a vague shapeflitted out from amongst thestalks of the bananaplantation, darted over the

moonlitspace,andfell in thedarkness at the foot of theverandah. Itmighthavebeenthe shadow of a drivingcloud, so noiseless and rapidwas its passage, but for thetrailofdisturbedgrass,whosefeathery heads trembled andswayedforalongtimeinthemoonlight before they restedmotionlessandgleaming,likea design of silver spraysembroidered on a sombrebackground.

Mrs. Almayer lighted thecocoanut lamp, and liftingcautiously the red curtain,gazed upon her husband,shading the light with herhand.Almayer,huddledupinthe

chair, one of his armshanging down, the otherthrown across the lower partofhisfaceasiftowardoffaninvisible enemy, his legsstretched straight out, sleptheavily, unconscious of the

unfriendly eyes that lookedupon him in disparagingcriticism. At his feet lay theoverturned table, amongst awreckofcrockeryandbrokenbottles.Theappearanceasoftraces left by a desperatestruggle was accentuated bythe chairs, which seemed tohave been scattered violentlyall over the place, and nowlayabouttheverandahwithalamentableaspectofinebrietyin their helpless attitudes.

Only Nina’s big rocking-chair, standing black andmotionless on its highrunners, towered above thechaos of demoralisedfurniture, unflinchinglydignifiedandpatient,waitingforitsburden.With a last scornful look

towards the sleeper, Mrs.Almayer passed behind thecurtainintoherownroom.Acoupleofbats,encouragedbythedarknessandthepeaceful

stateofaffairs, resumed theirsilent and oblique gambolsabove Almayer’s head, andfor a long time the profoundquiet of the house wasunbroken, save for the deepbreathingofthesleepingmanand the faint tinkle of silverin the hands of the womanpreparing for flight. In theincreasing light of the moonthathad risennowabove thenightmist, theobjectson theverandah came out strongly

outlined in black splashes ofshadow with all theuncompromising ugliness oftheir disorder, and acaricature of the sleepingAlmayer appeared on thedirty whitewash of the wallbehind him in a grotesquelyexaggerated detail of attitudeand feature enlarged to aheroic size.The discontentedbats departed in quest ofdarker places, and a lizardcame out in short, nervous

rushes, and, pleasedwith thewhite table-cloth, stopped onit in breathless immobilitythat would have suggestedsuddendeath had it not beenfor the melodious call heexchanged with a lessadventurous friend hidingamongst the lumber in thecourtyard.Thentheboardsinthe passage creaked, thelizardvanished,andAlmayerstirred uneasily with a sigh:slowly, out of the senseless

annihilationofdrunkensleep,hewasreturning, throughtheland of dreams, to wakingconsciousness. Almayer’shead rolled from shoulder toshoulder in theoppressionofhis dream; the heavens haddescended upon him like aheavy mantle, and trailed instarred folds far under him.Stars above, stars all roundhim;andfromthestarsunderhisfeetroseawhisperfullofentreaties and tears, and

sorrowful faces flittedamongst the clusters of lightfilling the infinite spacebelow.How escape from theimportunity of lamentablecries and from the look ofstaring, sad eyes in the faceswhich pressed round him tillhe gasped for breath underthecrushingweightofworldsthat hung over his achingshoulders? Get away! Buthow?Ifheattemptedtomovehe would step off into

nothing, and perish in thecrashing fall of that universeof which he was the onlysupport. And what were thevoicessaying?Urginghimtomove! Why? Move todestruction! Not likely! Theabsurdity of the thing filledhimwith indignation.Hegota firmer foothold andstiffened his muscles inheroic resolve to carry hisburden to all eternity. Andages passed in the

superhuman labour, amidsttherushofcirclingworlds;inthe plaintive murmur ofsorrowful voices urging himtodesistbeforeitwastoolate—till the mysterious powerthat had laid upon him thegiant task seemed at last toseek his destruction. Withterror he felt an irresistiblehand shaking him by theshoulder,while thechorusofvoicesswelled louder intoanagonised prayer to go, go

before it is too late. He felthimself slipping, losing hisbalance, as somethingdragged at his legs, and hefell.Withafaintcryheglidedout of the anguish ofperishing creation into animperfectwakingthatseemedto be still under the spell ofhisdream.“What? What?” he

murmured sleepily, withoutmoving or opening his eyes.His head still felt heavy, and

he had not the courage toraise his eyelids. In his earsthere still lingered the soundof entreating whisper.—“AmIawake?—WhydoIhearthevoices?” he argued tohimself, hazily.—“I cannotget rid of the horriblenightmare yet.—I have beenvery drunk.—What is thatshaking me? I am dreamingyet—I must open my eyesandbedonewithit.Iamonlyhalfawake,itisevident.”

Hemadeanefforttoshakeoffhis stuporandsawa faceclose to his, glaring at himwith staring eyeballs. Heclosed his eyes again inamazed horror and sat upstraight in the chair,trembling in every limb.What was this apparition?—His own fancy, no doubt.—His nerves had been muchtried the day before—andthen thedrink!Hewouldnotsee it again if he had the

courage to look.—He wouldlook directly.—Get a littlesteadierfirst.—So.—Now.Helooked.Thefigureofa

womanstanding in thesteelylight, her hands stretchedforth in a suppliant gesture,confronted him from the far-off end of the verandah; andinthespacebetweenhimandtheobstinatephantomfloatedthemurmurofwordsthatfellon his ears in a jumble oftorturing sentences, the

meaning of which escapedthe utmost efforts of hisbrain.Who spoke theMalaywords?Who ranaway?Whytoo late—and too late forwhat? What meant thosewordsofhateandlovemixedso strangely together, theever-recurring names fallingonhisearsagainandagain—Nina,Dain;Dain,Nina?Dainwas dead, and Nina wassleeping, unaware of theterrible experience through

which he was now passing.Washegoingtobetormentedfor ever, sleeping orwaking,and have no peace eithernight or day? What was themeaningofthis?He shouted the last words

aloud. The shadowy womanseemedtoshrinkandrecedealittle from him towards thedoorway, and there was ashriek. Exasperated by theincomprehensible nature ofhis torment,Almayermadea

rush upon the apparition,which eluded his grasp, andhebroughtupheavilyagainstthe wall. Quick as lightninghe turned round and pursuedfiercely themysteriousfigurefleeing from him withpiercingshrieksthatwerelikefuel to the flames of hisanger. Over the furniture,round the overturned table,and now he had it corneredbehind Nina’s chair. To theleft, to theright theydodged,

the chair rocking madlybetween them, she sendingout shriek after shriek atevery feint, and he growlingmeaningless curses throughhis hard set teeth. “Oh! thefiendish noise that split hisheadandseemedtochokehisbreath.—Itwouldkill him.—It must be stopped!” Aninsane desire to crush thatyelling thing induced him tocast himself recklessly overthe chair with a desperate

grab, and they came downtogether in a cloud of dustamongst thesplinteredwood.Thelastshriekdiedoutunderhim in a faint gurgle, and hehad secured the relief ofabsolutesilence.He looked at thewoman’s

face under him. A realwoman!Heknewher.Byallthat is wonderful! Taminah!Hejumpedupashamedofhisfury and stood perplexed,wipinghis forehead.Thegirl

struggled to a kneelingpostureandembracedhislegsin a frenzied prayer formercy.“Don’t be afraid,” he said,

raising her. “I shall not hurtyou.Whydoyoucometomyhouse in the night? And ifyouhadtocome,whynotgobehind the curtain where thewomensleep?”“The place behind the

curtain is empty,” gaspedTaminah, catchingherbreath

between the words. “Thereare nowomen in your houseanymore,Tuan.IsawtheoldMem go away before I triedto wake you. I did not wantyourwomen,Iwantedyou.”“Old Mem!” repeated

Almayer. “Do you mean mywife?”Shenoddedherhead.“But of my daughter you

arenotafraid?”saidAlmayer.“Haveyounotheardme?”

she exclaimed. “Have I not

spoken for a long timewhenyou lay there with eyes halfopen?Sheisgonetoo.”“Iwasasleep.Canyounot

tell when a man is sleepingandwhenawake?”“Sometimes,” answered

Taminah in a low voice;“sometimes the spirit lingersclose to a sleeping body andmayhear.Ispokealongtimebefore I touched you, and Ispokesoftlyforfear itwoulddepart at a sudden noise and

leaveyousleepingforever.Itookyoubytheshoulderonlywhen you began to mutterwordsIcouldnotunderstand.Haveyounotheard,then,anddoyouknownothing?”“Nothingofwhatyousaid.

What is it? Tell again if youwantmetoknow.”He took her by the

shoulder and led herunresistingtothefrontof theverandahintoastrongerlight.She wrung her hands with

such an appearance of griefthathebegantobealarmed.“Speak,” he said. “You

made noise enough to wakeeven dead men. And yetnobody living came,” headdedtohimselfinanuneasywhisper. “Are you mute?Speak!”herepeated.In a rush of words which

broke out after a shortstruggle from her tremblinglips she told him the tale ofNina’s love and her own

jealousy. Several times helooked angrily into her faceand told her to be silent; buthe could not stop the soundsthatseemedtohimtorunoutin a hot stream, swirl abouthis feet, and rise in scaldingwaves about him, higher,higher, drowning his heart,touching his lips with a feelof molten lead, blotting outhissightinscorchingvapour,closing over his head,merciless and deadly. When

shespokeofthedeceptionasto Dain’s death of which hehadbeenthevictimonlythatday, he glanced again at herwith terrible eyes, and madeherfalterforasecond,butheturned awaydirectly, andhisface suddenly lost allexpressioninastonystarefaraway over the river. Ah! theriver! His old friend and hisold enemy, speaking alwayswith the same voice as heruns from year to year

bringing fortune ordisappointment happiness orpain, upon the same varyingbut unchanged surface ofglancing currents andswirling eddies. For manyyears he had listened to thepassionless and soothingmurmur that sometimes wasthesongofhope,attimesthesong of triumph, ofencouragement; more oftenthe whisper of consolationthat spoke of better days to

come.Forsomanyyears!Somany years!And now to theaccompaniment of thatmurmur he listened to theslow and painful beating ofhis heart. He listenedattentively, wondering at theregularity of its beats. Hebegan to countmechanically.One,two.Whycount?Atthenext beat it must stop. Noheartcouldsuffersoandbeatso steadily for long. Thoseregular strokes as of a

muffled hammer that rang inhis earsmust stop soon. Stillbeating unceasing and cruel.Nomancanbear this; and isthis the last, or will the nextonebe the last?—Howmuchlonger? O God! how muchlonger? His hand weighedheavier unconsciously on thegirl’sshoulder,andshespokethe last words of her storycrouching at his feet withtears of pain and shame andanger.Washerrevengetofail

her?Thiswhitemanwaslikea senseless stone. Too late!Toolate!“And you saw her go?”

Almayer’s voice soundedharshlyaboveherhead.“Did I not tell you?” she

sobbed, trying to wrigglegently out from under hisgrip.“DidInottellyouthatIsawthewitchwomanpushthecanoe? I lay hidden in thegrassandheardallthewords.She that we used to call the

whiteMemwanted to returnto look at your face, but thewitchwomanforbadeher,and—”She sank lower yet on her

elbow, turning half roundunder the downward push ofthe heavy hand, her faceliftedup tohimwith spitefuleyes.“And she obeyed,” she

shouted out in a half-laugh,half-cryofpain. “Letmego,Tuan. Why are you angry

withme?Hasten,oryoushallbe too late to show youranger to the deceitfulwoman.”Almayerdraggedherupto

herfeetandlookedcloseintoher facewhile she struggled,turning her head away fromhiswildstare.“Who sent you here to

torment me?” he asked,violently. “I do not believeyou.Youlie.”He straightened his arm

suddenlyandflungheracrossthe verandah towards thedoorway, where she layimmobileandsilent,asifshehadleftherlifeinhisgrasp,adarkheap,withoutasoundorastir.“Oh! Nina!” whispered

Almayer, inavoiceinwhichreproach and love spoketogetherinpainedtenderness.“Oh!Nina!Idonotbelieve.”A light draught from the

riverranoverthecourtyardin

awave of bowing grass and,entering the verandah,touched Almayer’s foreheadwith its cool breath, in acaress of infinite pity. Thecurtain in the women’sdoorway blew out andinstantly collapsed withstartling helplessness. Hestaredattheflutteringstuff.“Nina!” cried Almayer.

“Whereareyou,Nina?”Thewindpassedoutofthe

empty house in a tremulous

sigh,andallwasstill.Almayerhidhisfaceinhis

hands as if to shut out aloathsome sight. When,hearing a slight rustle, heuncovered his eyes, the darkheapbythedoorwasgone.

11Chapter

Inthemiddleofashadowlesssquare of moonlight, shiningon a smooth and levelexpanseofyoungrice-shoots,alittleshelter-hutperchedonhigh posts, the pile of

brushwood near by and theglowingembersofafirewitha man stretched before it,seemed very small and as iflost in the pale greeniridescencereflectedfromtheground.Onthreesidesof theclearing, appearing very faraway in the deceptive light,the big trees of the forest,lashedtogetherwithmanifoldbonds by a mass of tangledcreepers, looked down at thegrowing young life at their

feet with the sombreresignationofgiants thathadlost faith in their strength.And in themidstof themthemerciless creepers clung tothe big trunks in cable-likecoils,leapedfromtreetotree,hung in thornyfestoonsfromthe lower boughs, and,sending slender tendrils onhigh to seek out the smallestbranches, carried death totheir victims in an exultingriotofsilentdestruction.

On the fourth side,following the curve of thebank of that branch of thePantai that formed the onlyaccess to the clearing, ran ablack line of young trees,bushes, and thick secondgrowth, unbroken save for asmallgapchoppedoutinoneplace. At that gap began thenarrowfootpath leadingfromthewater’sedgetothegrass-builtshelterusedbythenightwatchers when the ripening

crophadtobeprotectedfromthe wild pigs. The pathwayendedat the footof thepilesonwhichthehutwasbuilt,inacircularspacecoveredwithashesandbitsofburntwood.In the middle of that space,bythedimfire,layDain.He turnedoveronhis side

with an impatient sigh, and,pillowinghisheadonhisbentarm,layquietlywithhisfacetothedyingfire.Theglowingembersshoneredlyinasmall

circle, throwing a gleam intohis wide-open eyes, and atevery deep breath the finewhiteashofbygonefiresrosein a light cloud before hisparted lips, anddanced awayfrom thewarmglow into themoonbeams pouring downupon Bulangi’s clearing. Hisbody was weary with theexertionofthepastfewdays,his mind more weary stillwith the strain of solitarywaiting for his fate. Never

beforehadhefeltsohelpless.Hehadheardthereportofthegunfiredonboardthelaunch,andheknewthathislifewasin untrustworthy hands, andthat his enemies were verynear. During the slow hoursof the afternoon he roamedabout on the edge of theforest, or, hiding in thebushes, watched the creekwith unquiet eyes for somesignofdanger.Hefearednotdeath,yethedesiredardently

to live, for life to him wasNina. She had promised tocome,tofollowhim,tosharehisdangerandhissplendour.But with her by his side hecared not for danger, andwithouthertherecouldbenosplendour and no joy inexistence.Crouching in his shady

hiding-place, he closed hiseyes, trying to evoke thegraciousandcharming imageof the white figure that for

him was the beginning andtheendoflife.Witheyesshuttight, his teeth hard set, hetried in a great effort ofpassionate will to keep hishold on that vision ofsupremedelight. Invain!Hisheartgrewheavyasthefigureof Nina faded away to bereplaced by another visionthis time—a vision of armedmen, of angry faces, ofglittering arms—and heseemed to hear the hum of

excitedandtriumphantvoicesastheydiscoveredhiminhishiding-place. Startled by thevividness of his fancy, hewould open his eyes, and,leaping out into the sunlight,resume his aimlesswanderings around theclearing.As he skirted in hiswearymarch the edge of theforest he glanced now andthen into its dark shade, soenticing in its deceptiveappearance of coolness, so

repellent with its unrelievedgloom, where lay, entombedand rotting, countlessgenerations of trees, andwhere their successors stoodasifmourning, indarkgreenfoliage, immense andhelpless, awaiting their turn.Only the parasites seemed tolive there in a sinuous rushupwards into the air andsunshine,feedingonthedeadand the dying alike, andcrowning their victims with

pink and blue flowers thatgleamedamongsttheboughs,incongruous and cruel, like astrident andmocking note inthe solemn harmony of thedoomedtrees.A man could hide there,

thought Dain, as heapproachedaplacewherethecreepers had been torn andhacked into an archway thatmight have been thebeginning of a path. As hebentdowntolookthroughhe

heard angry grunting, and asounder of wild pig crashedaway in theundergrowth.Anacridsmellofdampearthandof decaying leaves took himby the throat, and he drewbackwithascaredface,as ifhe had been touched by thebreath of Death itself. Theveryairseemeddeadinthere—heavy and stagnating,poisoned with the corruptionof countless ages. He wenton, staggering on his way,

urged by the nervousrestlessness that made himfeel tired yet caused him toloathe the very idea ofimmobility and repose. Washe awildman to hide in thewoods and perhaps be killedthere—in the darkness—where there was no room tobreathe? He would wait forhis enemies in the sunlight,where he could see the skyandfeel thebreeze.Heknewhow a Malay chief should

die. The sombre anddesperate fury, that peculiarinheritance of his race, tookpossession of him, and heglared savagely across theclearing towards the gap inthe bushes by the riverside.Theywouldcomefromthere.In imagination he saw themnow. He saw the beardedfacesandthewhitejacketsofthe officers, the light on thelevelled barrels of the rifles.What is the bravery of the

greatest warrior before thefirearms in the hand of aslave?Hewouldwalktowardthem with a smiling face,with his hands held out in asignofsubmissiontillhewasvery near them. He wouldspeak friendly words—comenearer yet—yet nearer—sonear that they could touchhim with their hands andstretchthemouttomakehima captive. Thatwould be thetime:withashoutanda leap

he would be in the midst ofthem, kriss in hand, killing,killing,killing,andwoulddiewiththeshoutsofhisenemiesin his ears, theirwarmbloodspurtingbeforehiseyes.Carried away by his

excitement, he snatched thekriss hidden in his sarong,and, drawing a long breath,rushed forward, struck at theempty air, and fell on hisface. He lay as if stunned inthe sudden reaction from his

exaltation,thinkingthat,evenif he died thus gloriously, itwould have to be before hesawNina.Betterso.Ifhesawher again he felt that deathwould be too terrible. Withhorror he, the descendant ofRajahs and of conquerors,had to face the doubt of hisown bravery. His desire oflife tormented him in aparoxysm of agonisingremorse. He had not thecouragetostiralimb.Hehad

lostfaithinhimself,andtherewas nothing else in him ofwhat makes a man. Thesuffering remained, for it isorderedthatitshouldabideinthe human body even to thelast breath, and fearremained. Dimly he couldlook into the depths of hispassionate love, see itsstrength and its weakness,andfeltafraid.Thesunwentdownslowly.

The shadow of the western

forest marched over theclearing, covered the man’sscorched shoulders with itscool mantle, and went onhurriedly to mingle with theshadows of other forests onthe eastern side. The sunlingered for awhile amongstthelighttraceryofthehigherbranches, as if in friendlyreluctance to abandon thebody stretched in the greenpaddy-field. Then Dain,revived by the cool of the

evening breeze, sat up andstared round him. As he didso the sundipped sharply, asif ashamed of being detectedin a sympathising attitude,and the clearing, whichduring the day was all light,became suddenly alldarkness, where the firegleamed like an eye. Dainwalked slowly towards thecreek, and, divesting himselfof his torn sarong, his onlygarment, entered the water

cautiously. He had hadnothing to eat that day, andhadnotdaredshowhimselfindaylight by the water-side todrink. Now, as he swamsilently, he swallowed a fewmouthfuls of water thatlappedabouthislips.Thisdidhim good, and he walkedwith greater confidence inhimself and others as hereturnedtowardsthefire.HadhebeenbetrayedbyLakambaall would have been over by

this.Hemadeupabigblaze,and while it lasted driedhimself, and then lay downby the embers. He could notsleep, but he felt a greatnumbnessinallhislimbs.Hisrestlessnesswasgone,andhewas content to lay still,measuring the time bywatchingthestarsthatroseinendless succession above theforests,while the slightpuffsof wind under the cloudlesssky seemed to fan their

twinkle into a greaterbrightness. Dreamily heassuredhimselfoverandoveragain that she would come,tillthecertitudecreptintohisheart and filled him with agreat peace. Yes, when thenext day broke, they wouldbe together on the great bluesea that was like life—awayfromtheforeststhatwerelikedeath. He murmured thename of Nina into the silentspacewithatendersmile:this

seemed to break the spell ofstillness,andfarawaybythecreekafrogcroakedloudlyasifinanswer.Achorusofloudroars and plaintive calls rosefrom the mud along the lineof bushes. He laughedheartily;doubtlessitwastheirlove-song. He feltaffectionatetowardsthefrogsandlistened,pleasedwiththenoisylifenearhim.When the moon peeped

abovethetreeshefelttheold

impatience and the oldrestlessness steal over him.Whywasshesolate?True,itwasalongwaytocomewitha single paddle. With whatskill and what endurancecould those small handsmanage a heavy paddle! Itwas very wonderful—suchsmall hands, such soft littlepalmsthatknewhowtotouchhis cheek with a feel lighterthan the fanning of abutterfly’s wing. Wonderful!

He lost himself lovingly inthe contemplation of thistremendous mystery, andwhen he looked at themoonagain it had risen a hand’sbreadth above the trees.Would she come? He forcedhimself to lay still,overcoming the impulse torise and rush round theclearingagain.Heturnedthisway and that; at last,quivering with the effort, helay on his back, and sawher

face among the stars lookingdownonhim.The croaking of frogs

suddenly ceased. With thewatchfulnessofahuntedmanDain sat up, listeninganxiously, and heard severalsplashes in the water as thefrogs took rapid headers intothe creek.He knew that theyhad been alarmed bysomething, and stood upsuspicious and attentive. Aslight grating noise, then the

drysoundasoftwopiecesofwood struck against eachother. Somebody was abouttoland!Hetookupanarmfulof brushwood, and, withouttakinghiseyesfromthepath,helditovertheembersofhisfire. He waited, undecided,and saw something gleamamongst the bushes; then awhite figure came out of theshadows and seemed to floattowardshiminthepalelight.His heart gave a great leap

and stood still, thenwent onshaking his frame in furiousbeats. He dropped thebrushwood upon the glowingcoals, and had an impressionof shouting her name—ofrushing to meet her; yet heemitted no sound, he stirrednot an inch, but he stoodsilent and motionless likechiselled bronze under themoonlight that streamedoverhis naked shoulders. As hestood still, fighting with his

breath, as if bereft of hissensesby the intensityofhisdelight,shewalkeduptohimwith quick, resolute steps,and, with the appearance ofone about to leap from adangerous height, threwbothherarmsroundhisneckwitha sudden gesture. A smallbluegleamcreptamongstthedry branches, and thecracklingofrevivingfirewasthe only sound as they facedeach other in the speechless

emotionofthatmeeting;thenthe dry fuel caught at once,and a bright hot flame shotupwardsinablazeashighastheir heads, and in its lighttheysaweachother’seyes.Neither of them spoke.He

was regaininghis senses inaslighttremorthatranupwardsalonghisrigidbodyandhungabout his trembling lips. Shedrew back her head andfastened her eyes on his inone of those long looks that

are a woman’s most terribleweapon; a look that is morestirringthantheclosesttouch,andmore dangerous than thethrustof adagger, because italsowhipsthesouloutofthebody, but leaves the bodyalive and helpless, to beswayedhereandtherebythecapricious tempests ofpassionanddesire;alookthatenwraps thewholebody,andthat penetrates into theinnermost recesses of the

being,bringingterribledefeatin the delirious uplifting ofaccomplishedconquest.Ithasthesamemeaningforthemanof the forests and the sea asfor the man threading thepaths of the more dangerouswilderness of houses andstreets. Men that had felt intheir breasts the awfulexultation such a lookawakensbecomemere thingsofto-day—whichisparadise;forget yesterday—which was

suffering; care not for to-morrow—which may beperdition. They wish to liveunder that lookforever. It isthe look of woman’ssurrender.He understood, and, as if

suddenly released from hisinvisible bonds, fell at herfeetwitha shoutof joy,and,embracing her knees, hid hisheadinthefoldsofherdress,murmuring disjointed wordsof gratitude and love. Never

beforehadhefeltsoproudasnow,whenat the feetof thatwoman that half belonged tohis enemies. Her fingersplayed with his hair in anabsent-minded caress as shestood absorbed in thought.The thing was done. Hermother was right. The manwasherslave.Assheglanceddownathiskneelingformshefeltagreatpityingtendernessfor thatman shewasused tocall—even in her thoughts—

the master of life. She liftedher eyes and looked sadly atthe southern heavens underwhich lay the path of theirlives—her own, and thatman’sather feet.Didhenotsay himself is that she wasthe light of his life? Shewould be his light and hiswisdom; she would be hisgreatnessandhisstrength;yethidden from the eyes of allmenshewouldbe,aboveall,his only and lasting

weakness.Averywoman!Inthesublimevanityofherkindshe was thinking already ofmouldingagodfromtheclayat her feet. A god for othersto worship. She was contentto see him as he was now,and to feel himquiver at theslightest touch of her lightfingers. And while her eyeslooked sadly at the southernstars a faint smile seemed tobe playing about her firmlips.Whocantellinthefitful

lightofacampfire?Itmighthavebeenasmileoftriumph,or of conscious power, or oftender pity, or, perhaps, oflove.She spoke softly to him,

andherosetohisfeet,puttinghis arm round her in quietconsciousness of hisownership; she laid her headon his shoulder with a senseofdefiancetoalltheworldinthe encircling protection ofthatarm.Hewasherswithall

hisqualitiesandallhisfaults.His strengthandhiscourage,his recklessness and hisdaring, his simple wisdomand his savage cunning—allwere hers. As they passedtogetheroutoftheredlightofthefireintothesilvershowerof rays that fell upon theclearinghebenthisheadoverher face, and she saw in hiseyes the dreamy intoxicationofboundlessfelicityfromtheclose touch of her slight

figure clasped to his side.With a rhythmical swing oftheir bodies they walkedthrough the light towards theoutlying shadows of theforests that seemed to guardtheir happiness in solemnimmobility. Their formsmeltedintheplayoflightandshadowat the footof thebigtrees, but the murmur oftender words lingered overthe empty clearing, grewfaint,anddiedout.Asighas

of immense sorrow passedoverthelandinthelasteffortof the dying breeze, and inthe deep silence whichsucceeded, the earth and theheavens were suddenlyhushed up in the mournfulcontemplationofhuman loveandhumanblindness.They walked slowly back

tothefire.Hemadeforheraseat out of the dry branches,and, throwing himself downatherfeet,layhisheadinher

lapandgavehimselfuptothedreamydelightofthepassinghour. Their voices rose andfell, tender or animated asthey spoke of their love andof their future. She, with afew skilful words spokenfromtimetotime,guidedhisthoughts, and he let hishappinessflowinastreamoftalk passionate and tender,graveormenacing,accordingto the mood which sheevoked. He spoke to her of

his own island, where thegloomy forests and themuddy riverswereunknown.He spoke of its terracedfields,ofthemurmuringclearrills of sparkling water thatflowed down the sides ofgreatmountains,bringinglifeto the land and joy to itstillers. And he spoke also ofthemountainpeak that risinglonelyabove thebeltof treesknew the secrets of thepassing clouds, and was the

dwelling-place of themysterious spirit of his race,of the guardian genius of hishouse. He spoke of vasthorizons swept by fiercewinds that whistled highabovethesummitsofburningmountains. He spoke of hisforefathers that conqueredages ago the island ofwhichhewas tobe thefuture ruler.And then as, in her interest,shebroughtherfacenearertohis, he, touching lightly the

thicktressesofher longhair,feltasuddenimpulsetospeakto her of the sea he loved sowell; and he told her of itsnever-ceasingvoice,towhichhe had listened as a child,wondering at its hiddenmeaning that no living manhas penetrated yet; of itsenchanting glitter; of itssenselessandcapriciousfury;how its surface was for everchanging, and yet alwaysenticing, while its depths

were for ever the same, coldand cruel, and full of thewisdomofdestroyed life.Hetold her how it held menslaves of its charm for alifetime, and then, regardlessof their devotion, swallowedthemup,angryattheirfearofits mystery, which it wouldnever disclose, not even tothose that loved it most.Whilehe talked,Nina’sheadhad been gradually sinkinglower, and her face almost

touched his now. Her hairwasoverhiseyes,herbreathwasonhisforehead,herarmswereabouthisbody.No twobeingscouldbeclosertoeachother, yet she guessed ratherthan understood themeaningof his last words that cameoutafteraslighthesitationina faint murmur, dying outimperceptiblyintoaprofoundand significant silence: “Thesea, O Nina, is like awoman’sheart.”

She closed his lips with asuddenkiss, andanswered inasteadyvoice—“But to the men that have

no fear,Omasterofmy life,theseaisevertrue.”Over their heads a film of

dark, thread-like clouds,looking like immensecobwebs drifting under thestars, darkened the sky withthe presage of the comingthunderstorm. From theinvisiblehills thefirstdistant

rumble of thunder came in aprolonged roll which, aftertossingaboutfromhilltohill,lostitselfintheforestsofthePantai. Dain and Nina stoodup, and the former looked attheskyuneasily.“ItistimeforBabalatchito

behere,”he said. “Thenightis more than half gone. Ourroad is long, and a bullettravels quicker than the bestcanoe.”“Hewillbeherebeforethe

moon is hidden behind theclouds,”saidNina.“Iheardasplash in the water,” sheadded.“Didyouhearittoo?”“Alligator,”answeredDain

shortly,withacarelessglancetowards the creek. “Thedarker the night,” hecontinued, “the shorter willbeourroad,forthenwecouldkeep in the current of themain stream,but if it is light—even no more than now—we must follow the small

channels of sleeping water,with nothing to help ourpaddles.”“Dain,” interposed Nina,

earnestly,“itwasnoalligator.I heard the bushes rustlingnearthelanding-place.”“Yes,” said Dain, after

listeningawhile.“ItcannotbeBabalatchi,whowould comein a big war canoe, andopenly. Those that arecoming,whoevertheyare,donotwishtomakemuchnoise.

Butyouhaveheard,andnowI can see,” he went onquickly. “It is but one man.Standbehindme,Nina. Ifheis a friend he is welcome; ifhe is anenemyyou shall seehimdie.”He laid his hand on his

kriss, and awaited theapproach of his unexpectedvisitor. The fire was burningverylow,andsmallclouds—precursors of the storm—crossed the faceof themoon

in rapid succession, and theirflying shadows darkened theclearing. He could not makeout who the man might be,but he felt uneasy at thesteady advance of the tallfigure walking on the pathwithaheavytread,andhailedit with a command to stop.The man stopped at somelittle distance, and Dainexpectedhimtospeak,butallhe could hear was his deepbreathing.Throughabreakin

the flying clouds a suddenand fleeting brightnessdescended upon the clearing.Beforethedarknessclosedinagain, Dain saw a handholdingsomeglitteringobjectextended towards him, heardNina’scryof“Father!”andinan instant the girl wasbetween him and Almayer’srevolver. Nina’s loud crywoke up the echoes of thesleepingwoods,andthethreestoodstillasifwaitingforthe

return of silence before theywould give expression totheir various feelings. At theappearance of Nina,Almayer’s arm fell by hisside, and he made a stepforward.Dainpushedthegirlgentlyaside.“AmIawildbeastthatyou

shouldtrytokillmesuddenlyand in the dark, TuanAlmayer?” said Dain,breaking the strained silence.“Throw some brushwood on

the fire,” he went on,speaking to Nina, “while Iwatch my white friend, lestharm should come to you orto me, O delight of myheart!”Almayer ground his teeth

and raised his arm again.WithaquickboundDainwasat his side: therewas a shortscuffle, during which onechamberoftherevolverwentoff harmlessly, then theweapon, wrenched out of

Almayer’s hand, whirledthroughtheairandfellinthebushes. The two men stoodclose together, breathinghard. The replenished firethrew out an unsteady circleof light and shone on theterrified face of Nina, wholooked at them withoutstretchedhands.“Dain!” she cried out

warningly,“Dain!”Hewavedhishandtowards

her in a reassuring gesture,

and,turningtoAlmayer,saidwithgreatcourtesy—“Now we may talk, Tuan.

It is easy to send out death,but can your wisdom recallthelife?Shemighthavebeenharmed,” he continued,indicating Nina. “Your handshookmuch;formyselfIwasnotafraid.”“Nina!” exclaimed

Almayer, “come to me atonce. What is this suddenmadness? What bewitched

you? Come to your father,and together we shall try toforget this horriblenightmare!”He opened his arms with

the certitude of clasping herto his breast in anothersecond.Shedidnotmove.Asit dawned upon him that shedidnotmeantoobeyhefeltadeadly cold creep into hisheart,and,pressingthepalmsofhishandstohistemples,helookeddownonthegroundin

mutedespair.DaintookNinaby the arm and led hertowardsherfather.“Speak to him in the

language of his people,” hesaid.“Heisgrieving—aswhowould not grieve at losingthee,mypearl!Speak tohimthe last words he shall hearspoken by that voice, whichmust be very sweet to him,butisallmylifetome.”He released her, and,

steppingbackafewpacesout

ofthecircleoflight,stoodinthe darkness looking at themwith calm interest. Thereflectionofadistantflashoflightning lit up the cloudsover their heads, and wasfollowedafterashortintervalby the faint rumble ofthunder, which mingled withAlmayer’s voice as he begantospeak.“Do you know what you

aredoing?Doyouknowwhatis waiting for you if you

follow that man? Have younopity for yourself?Doyouknowthatyoushallbeatfirsthis plaything and then ascornedslave,adrudge,andaservantofsomenewfancyofthatman?”Sheraisedherhandtostop

him, and turning her headslightly,asked—“You hear this Dain! Is it

true?”“Byallthegods!”camethe

impassionedanswer from the

darkness—“by heaven andearth,bymyheadandthineIswear: this is a white man’slie. I have deliveredmy soulinto your hands for ever; Ibreathe with your breath, Isee with your eyes, I thinkwith your mind, and I takeyouintomyheartforever.”“You thief!” shouted the

exasperatedAlmayer.A deep silence succeeded

this outburst, then the voiceofDainwasheardagain.

“Nay, Tuan,” he said in agentle tone, “that is not truealso. The girl came of herown will. I have done nomorebuttoshowhermylovelikeaman;sheheard thecryof my heart, and she came,andthedowryIhavegiventothe woman you call yourwife.”Almayer groaned in his

extremityof rageandshame.Nina laidherhand lightlyonhisshoulder,and thecontact,

lightas the touchofa fallingleaf,seemedtocalmhim.Hespokequickly,andinEnglishthistime.“Tell me,” he said—“tell

me, what have they done toyou, your mother and thatman? What made you giveyourself up to that savage?For he is a savage. Betweenhimandyouthereisabarrierthat nothing can remove. Icanseeinyoureyesthelookof thosewho commit suicide

when they aremad. You aremad. Don’t smile. It breaksmyheart.IfIweretoseeyoudrowning before my eyes,and I without the power tohelpyou,Icouldnotsufferagreater torment. Have youforgotten the teaching of somanyyears?”“No,” she interrupted, “I

rememberitwell.Irememberhow it ended also. Scorn forscorn,contemptforcontempt,hateforhate.Iamnotofyour

race. Between your peopleandmethere isalsoabarrierthatnothingcanremove.Youask why I want to go, and IaskyouwhyIshouldstay.”Hestaggeredasifstruckin

the face, but with a quick,unhesitatinggraspshecaughthim by the arm and steadiedhim.“Whyyoushouldstay!”he

repeated slowly, in a dazedmanner, and stopped short,astounded at the

completeness of hismisfortune.“You told me yesterday,”

she went on again, “that Icould not understand or seeyour love for me: it is so.How can I? No two humanbeingsunderstandeachother.Theycanunderstandbuttheirown voices. You wanted metodreamyourdreams, to seeyour own visions—thevisions of life amongst thewhitefacesofthosewhocast

me out from their midst inangry contempt. But whileyou spoke I listened to thevoice of my own self; thenthis man came, and all wasstill; there was only themurmurofhis love.Youcallhim a savage! What do youcallmymother,yourwife?”“Nina!” cried Almayer,

“takeyoureyesoffmyface.”She looked down directly,

butcontinuedspeakingonlyalittleaboveawhisper.

“In time,” she went on,“both our voices, that man’sandmine,spoketogetherinasweetness that wasintelligible to our ears only.You were speaking of goldthen,butour earswere filledwiththesongofourlove,andwe did not hear you. Then Ifound that we could seethrough each other’s eyes:that he saw things thatnobody but myself and hecould see.Weentered a land

where no one could followus,andleastofallyou.ThenIbegantolive.”She paused. Almayer

sigheddeeply.Withher eyesstill fixed on the ground shebeganspeakingagain.“And I mean to live. I

mean to follow him. I havebeen rejected with scorn bythe white people, and now Iam aMalay! He took me inhisarms,helaidhislifeatmyfeet. He is brave; he will be

powerful, and I hold hisbravery and his strength inmy hand, and I shall makehimgreat.His name shall beremembered long after bothourbodiesarelaidinthedust.I love you no less than I didbefore,butIshallneverleavehim,forwithouthimIcannotlive.”“Ifheunderstoodwhatyou

have said,” answeredAlmayer, scornfully, “hemustbehighlyflattered.You

want him as a tool for someincomprehensibleambitionofyours. Enough, Nina. If youdonotgodownatoncetothecreek, where Ali is waitingwith my canoe, I shall tellhimtoreturntothesettlementand bring the Dutch officershere.Youcannotescapefromthis clearing, for I have castadrift your canoe. If theDutchcatchthisheroofyourstheywillhanghimassureasIstandhere.Nowgo.”

Hemadeasteptowardshisdaughterand laidholdofherby the shoulder, his otherhand pointing down the pathtothelanding-place.“Beware!”exclaimedDain;

“thiswomanbelongstome!”Ninawrenchedherselffree

and looked straight atAlmayer’sangryface.“No, I will not go,” she

said with desperate energy.“IfhediesIshalldietoo!”“You die!” said Almayer,

contemptuously. “Oh, no!You shall live a life of liesanddeception till someothervagabond comes along tosing; how did you say that?The song of love to you!Makeupyourmindquickly.”Hewaitedforawhile,and

thenaddedmeaningly—“ShallIcallouttoAli?”“Callout,”sheansweredin

Malay, “you that cannot betruetoyourowncountrymen.Only a few days ago you

were selling the powder fortheir destruction; now youwant to give up to them themanthatyesterdayyoucalledyour friend. Oh, Dain,” shesaid, turning towards themotionless but attentivefigure in the darkness,“insteadofbringingyoulifeIbring you death, for he willbetray unless I leave you forever!”Dain came into the circle

of light, and, throwing his

arm around Nina’s neck,whispered in her ear—“I cankill him where he stands,before a sound can pass hislips.Foryouitistosayyesorno. Babalatchi cannot be farnow.”Hestraightenedhimselfup,

taking his arm off hershoulder, and confrontedAlmayer,wholookedatthemboth with an expression ofconcentratedfury.“No!”shecried,clingingto

Daininwildalarm.“No!Killme!Thenperhapshewill letyougo.Youdonotknowthemind of a white man. Hewould rather see me deadthan standing where I am.Forgive me, your slave, butyoumustnot.”Shefellathisfeet sobbing violently andrepeating,“Killme!Killme!”“I want you alive,” said

Almayer, speaking also inMalay, with sombrecalmness. “You go, or he

hangs.Willyouobey?”Dain shook Nina off, and,

making a sudden lunge,struck Almayer full in thechest with the handle of hiskriss, keeping the pointtowardshimself.“Hai, look!Itwaseasyfor

metoturnthepointtheotherway,” he said in his evenvoice. “Go, Tuan Putih,” headded with dignity. “I giveyouyourlife,mylife,andherlife. I am the slave of this

woman’sdesire,andshewillsitso.”Therewasnotaglimmerof

light in the skynow,and thetops of the trees were asinvisibleastheirtrunks,beinglostinthemassofcloudsthathunglowoverthewoods,theclearing,andtheriver.Every outline had

disappeared in the intenseblacknessthatseemedtohavedestroyed everything butspace. Only the fire

glimmered like a starforgotten in this annihilationof all visible things, andnothingwasheardafterDainceased speaking but the sobsofNina,whomheheldinhisarms,kneelingbesidethefire.Almayer stood looking downat them in gloomythoughtfulness. As he wasopeninghislipstospeaktheywere startled by a cry ofwarning by the riverside,followed by the splash of

many paddles and the soundofvoices.“Babalatchi!” shouted

Dain, lifting up Nina as hegotuponhisfeetquickly.“Ada! Ada!” came the

answer from the pantingstatesman who ran up thepathandstoodamongstthem.“Runtomycanoe,”hesaidtoDain excitedly, withouttakinganynoticeofAlmayer.“Run! we must go. Thatwomanhastoldthemall!”

“What woman?” askedDain, looking at Nina. Justthen there was only onewoman in the whole worldforhim.“The she-dog with white

teeth; the seven timesaccursed slave of Bulangi.She yelled at Abdulla’s gatetill she woke up all Sambir.Now the white officers arecoming, guided by her andReshid. If you want to live,donotlookatme,butgo!”

“How do you know this?”askedAlmayer.“Oh, Tuan! what matters

howIknow!Ihaveonlyoneeye, but I saw lights inAbdulla’s house and in hiscampong as we werepaddling past. I have ears,and while we lay under thebank I have heard themessengers sent out to thewhitemen’shouse.”“Will you depart without

that woman who is my

daughter?” said Almayer,addressing Dain, whileBabalatchi stamped withimpatience, muttering, “Run!Runatonce!”“No,” answered Dain,

steadily,“Iwillnotgo; tonoman will I abandon thiswoman.”“Then kill me and escape

yourself,”sobbedoutNina.He clasped her close,

looking at her tenderly, andwhispered, “We will never

part,ONina!”“I shall not stay here any

longer,” broke in Babalatchi,angrily. “This is greatfoolishness. No woman isworth a man’s life. I am anoldman,andIknow.”Hepickeduphisstaff,and,

turning togo, lookedatDainas if offering him his lastchanceofescape.ButDain’sface was hidden amongstNina’s black tresses, and hedidnotseethislastappealing

glance.Babalatchi vanished in the

darkness. Shortly after hisdisappearance they heard thewar canoe leave the landing-place in the swish of thenumerous paddles dipped inthewater together.Almostatthe same time Ali came upfrom the riverside, twopaddlesonhisshoulder.“Our canoe is hidden up

thecreek,TuanAlmayer,”hesaid, “in the dense bush

wheretheforestcomesdownto the water. I took it therebecause I heard fromBabalatchi’spaddlersthatthewhitemenarecominghere.”“Wait for me there,” said

Almayer,“butkeepthecanoehidden.”He remained silent,

listening to Ali’s footsteps,thenturnedtoNina.“Nina,”hesaidsadly,“will

youhavenopityforme?”Therewas no answer. She

did not even turn her head,which was pressed close toDain’sbreast.Hemadeamovementasif

to leave them and stopped.By the dim glow of theburning-out fire he saw theirtwo motionless figures. Thewoman’s back turned to himwith the long black hairstreaming down over thewhite dress, andDain’s calmfacelookingathimaboveherhead.

“I cannot,” hemuttered tohimself.Afteralongpausehespokeagainalittlelower,butin an unsteady voice, “Itwouldbetoogreatadisgrace.Iamawhiteman.”Hebrokedown completely there, andwent on tearfully, “I am awhite man, and of goodfamily. Very good family,”herepeated,weepingbitterly.“Itwouldbeadisgrace…allover the islands,… the onlywhiteman on the east coast.

No,itcannotbe…whitemenfindingmydaughterwiththisMalay. My daughter!” hecried aloud, with a ring ofdespairinhisvoice.He recovered his

composure after a while andsaiddistinctly—“I will never forgive you,

Nina—never! If you were tocome back to me now, thememory of this night wouldpoisonallmy life. I shall trytoforget.Ihavenodaughter.

Thereused tobe ahalf-castewoman inmyhouse, but sheis going even now. You,Dain,orwhateveryournamemay be, I shall take you andthat woman to the island atthemouthoftherivermyself.Comewithme.”He led the way, following

the bank as far as the forest.Aliansweredtohiscall,and,pushingtheirwaythroughthedensebush, theysteppedintothe canoe hidden under the

overhanging branches. Dainlaid Nina in the bottom, andsat holding her head on hisknees.Almayer andAli eachtook up a paddle. As theywere going to push out Alihissed warningly. Alllistened.Inthegreatstillnessbefore

the bursting out of thethunderstorm theycouldhearthe sound of oars workingregularly in their row-locks.The sound approached

steadily, and Dain, lookingthrough the branches, couldsee the faint shape of a bigwhiteboat.Awoman’svoicesaidinacautioustone—“There is the place where

you may land white men; alittlehigher—there!”Theboatwaspassingthem

so close in the narrow creekthat the blades of the longoars nearly touched thecanoe.“Wayenough!Standby to

jump on shore! He is aloneand unarmed,” was the quietorderinaman’svoice,andinDutch.Somebody else whispered:

“I think I can see a glimmerof a fire through the bush.”Andthentheboatfloatedpastthem, disappearing instantlyinthedarkness.“Now,” whispered Ali,

eagerly, “let us push out andpaddleaway.”Thelittlecanoeswunginto

the stream, and as it sprungforward in response to thevigorous dig of the paddlesthey could hear an angryshout.“He is not by the fire.

Spread out, men, and searchforhim!”Blue lights blazed out in

differentpartsoftheclearing,and the shrill voice of awoman cried in accents ofrageandpain—“Too late! O senseless

whitemen!Hehasescaped!”

12Chapter

“Thatistheplace,”saidDain,indicating with the blade ofhispaddleasmall isletabouta mile ahead of the canoe—“that is the place whereBabalatchi promised that a

boat from the prau wouldcomeformewhen thesun isoverhead. We will wait forthatboatthere.”Almayer, who was

steering, nodded withoutspeaking, and by a slightsweep of his paddle laid thehead of the canoe in therequireddirection.Theywere just leaving the

southern outlet of the Pantai,which lay behind them in astraight and long vista of

water shining between twowallsofthickverdurethatrandownwardsand towardseachother, till at last they joinedand sank together in the far-away distance. The sun,rising above the calmwatersoftheStraits,markeditsownpath by a streak of light thatglided upon the sea anddarted up the wide reach oftheriver,ahurriedmessengeroflightandlifetothegloomyforests of the coast; and in

this radiance of the sun’spathway floated the blackcanoe heading for the isletwhichlaybathedinsunshine,the yellow sands of itsencircling beach shining likean inlaid golden disc on thepolished steel of theunwrinkled sea. To the northand south of it rose otherislets, joyousintheirbrilliantcolouring of green andyellow,andonthemaincoastthe sombre line ofmangrove

bushes ended to thesouthward in the reddishcliffs of Tanjong Mirrah,advancing into the sea, steepand shadowless under theclear, light of the earlymorning.The bottom of the canoe

grated upon the sand as thelittlecraftranuponthebeach.Ali leapedon shore andheldon while Dain stepped outcarrying Nina in his arms,exhausted by the events and

the long travellingduring thenight.Almayerwasthelasttoleave the boat, and togetherwith Ali ran it higher up onthebeach.ThenAli,tiredoutby the long paddling, laiddown in the shade of thecanoe, and incontinently fellasleep.Almayersatsidewayson thegunwale, andwithhisarms crossed on his breast,lookedtothesouthwarduponthesea.AftercarefullylayingNina

down in the shade of thebushesgrowinginthemiddleof the islet, Dain threwhimself beside her andwatched insilentconcern thetears that ran down fromunderherclosedeyelids, andlost themselves in that finesand upon which they bothwerelyingfacetoface.Thesetearsandthissorrowwereforhim a profound anddisquieting mystery. Now,when the danger was past,

why should she grieve? Hedoubted her love no morethan he would have doubtedthefactofhisownexistence,butashelaylookingardentlyin her face, watching hertears,herpartedlips,herverybreath, he was uneasilyconsciousofsomethinginherhe could not understand.Doubtless she had thewisdomofperfectbeings.Hesighed. He felt somethinginvisible that stood between

them, something that wouldlet him approach her so far,but no farther. No desire, nolonging, no effort of will orlength of life could destroythis vague feeling of theirdifference.Withawebutalsowithgreatprideheconcludedthat it was her ownincomparable perfection. Shewashis,andyetshewaslikeawomanfromanotherworld.His! His! He exulted in thegloriousthought;nevertheless

hertearspainedhim.With a wisp of her own

hair which he took in hishandwith timidreverencehetried in an access of clumsytenderness to dry the tearsthat trembled on hereyelashes.Hehadhis rewardin a fleeting smile thatbrightened her face for theshortfractionofasecond,butsoon the tears fell faster thanever, andhecouldbear it nomore. He rose and walked

towards Almayer, who stillsat absorbed in hiscontemplation of the sea. Itwas a very, very long timesince he had seen the sea—that sea that leadseverywhere, bringseverything,andtakesawaysomuch. He had almostforgotten why he was there,anddreamilyhecouldseeallhis past life on the smoothand boundless surface thatglitteredbeforehiseyes.

Dain’s hand laid onAlmayer’s shoulder recalledhim with a start from somecountryveryfarawayindeed.Heturnedround,buthiseyesseemed to look rather at theplace where Dain stood thanat themanhimself.Dain feltuneasyundertheunconsciousgaze.“What?”saidAlmayer.“She iscrying,”murmured

Dain,softly.“She is crying! Why?”

askedAlmayer,indifferently.“I came to ask you. My

Raneesmileswhenlookingatthe man she loves. It is thewhite woman that is cryingnow.Youwouldknow.”Almayer shrugged his

shoulders and turned awayagaintowardsthesea.“Go, Tuan Putih,” urged

Dain.“Gotoher;hertearsaremore terrible to me than theangerofgods.”“Are they? You will see

them more than once. Shetold me she could not livewithout you,” answeredAlmayer, speaking withoutthe faintest spark ofexpression in his face, “so itbehoves you to go to herquick, for fear youmay findherdead.”He burst into a loud and

unpleasantlaughwhichmadeDain stare at him with someapprehension, but got off thegunwale of the boat and

moved slowly towards Nina,glancing up at the sun as hewalked.“Andyougowhenthesun

isoverhead?”hesaid.“Yes, Tuan. Thenwe go,”

answeredDain.“I have not long to wait,”

mutteredAlmayer.“Itismostimportant for me to see yougo. Both of you. Mostimportant,” he repeated,stoppingshortand lookingatDainfixedly.

Hewent on again towardsNina, and Dain remainedbehind. Almayer approachedhis daughter and stood for atime looking down on her.Shedidnotopenhereyes,buthearing footsteps near her,murmured in a low sob,“Dain.”Almayer hesitated for a

minute and then sank on thesand by her side. She, nothearing a responsive word,not feeling a touch, opened

hereyes—sawherfather,andsat up suddenly with amovementofterror.“Oh, father!” she

murmuredfaintly,andinthatword there was expressedregret and fear and dawninghope.“I shall never forgive you,

Nina,” said Almayer, in adispassionate voice. “Youhave torn my heart from mewhile I dreamt of yourhappiness. You have

deceived me. Your eyes thatfor me were like truth itselflied tome in every glance—forhowlong?Youknowthatbest. When you werecaressingmycheekyouwerecounting the minutes to thesunset thatwas thesignal foryourmeetingwiththatman—there!”He ceased, and they both

sat silent side by side, notlooking at each other, butgazingat thevastexpanseof

thesea.Almayer’swordshaddried Nina’s tears, and herlook grew hard as she staredbefore her into the limitlesssheet of blue that shonelimpid,unwaving,andsteadylike heaven itself. He lookedatitalso,buthisfeatureshadlostallexpression,andlifeinhiseyesseemedtohavegoneout. The face was a blank,without a sign of emotion,feeling, reason, or evenknowledge of itself. All

passion,regret,grief,hope,oranger—allwere gone, erasedbythehandoffate,asifafterthis last stroke everythingwas over and there was noneedforanyrecord.Those few who saw

Almayer during the shortperiod of his remaining dayswerealwaysimpressedbythesightofthatfacethatseemedtoknownothingofwhatwentonwithin:liketheblankwallof a prison enclosing sin,

regrets, andpain, andwastedlife, in the cold indifferenceofmortarandstones.“Whatistheretoforgive?”

asked Nina, not addressingAlmayerdirectly,butmoreasifarguingwithherself.“CanInot live my own life as youhave lived yours? The pathyouwouldhavewishedmetofollowhasbeenclosedtomebynofaultofmine.”“You never told me,”

mutteredAlmayer.

“Youneveraskedme,”sheanswered,“andIthoughtyouwere like the others and didnot care. I bore the memoryofmyhumiliation alone, andwhy should I tell you that itcame to me because I amyour daughter? I knew youcouldnotavengeme.”“AndyetIwasthinkingof

that only,” interruptedAlmayer, “and I wanted togive you years of happinessfor the short day of your

suffering.Ionlyknewofoneway.”“Ah! but it was not my

way!” she replied. “Couldyou give me happinesswithout life? Life!” sherepeated with sudden energythat sent the word ringingoverthesea.“Lifethatmeanspower and love,” she addedinalowvoice.“That!” said Almayer,

pointing his finger at Dainstandingclosebyandlooking

atthemincuriouswonder.“Yes, that!” she replied,

looking her father full in thefaceandnoticingfor thefirsttimewithaslightgaspoffearthe unnatural rigidity of hisfeatures.“I would have rather

strangled you with my ownhands,” said Almayer, in anexpressionless voice whichwas such a contrast to thedesperate bitterness of hisfeelingsthatitsurprisedeven

himself. He asked himselfwhospoke,and,afterlookingslowly round as if expectingto see somebody, turnedagain his eyes towards thesea.“Yousay thatbecauseyou

do not understand themeaning of my words,” shesaidsadly.“Betweenyouandmy mother there never wasany love.When I returned toSambir I found the placewhich I thought would be a

peaceful refuge formyheart,filled with weariness andhatred—and mutualcontempt. I have listened toyour voice and to her voice.ThenIsawthatyoucouldnotunderstandme; forwas I notpart of that woman? Of herwhowastheregretandshameof your life? I had to choose—I hesitated.Whywere yousoblind?Didyounotseemestruggling before your eyes?But,whenhecame,alldoubt

disappeared, and I saw onlythe light of the blue andcloudlessheaven—”“I will tell you the rest,”

interrupted Almayer: “whenthatmancameIalsosawtheblue and the sunshine of thesky.A thunderbolt has fallenfrom that sky, and suddenlyallisstillanddarkaroundmefor ever. Iwill never forgiveyou, Nina; and to-morrow Ishallforgetyou!Ishallneverforgive you,” he repeated

with mechanical obstinacywhileshesat,herheadboweddown as if afraid to look atherfather.To him it seemed of the

utmost importance that heshould assure her of hisintention of never forgiving.He was convinced that hisfaith in her had been thefoundation of his hopes, themotive of his courage, of hisdetermination to live andstruggle, and tobevictorious

for her sake. And now hisfaithwas gone, destroyed byher own hands; destroyedcruelly, treacherously, in thedark; in the very moment ofsuccess.Intheutterwreckofhis affections and of all hisfeelings, in the chaoticdisorder of his thoughts,above the confused sensationofphysicalpainthatwrappedhim up in a sting as of awhiplash curling round himfrom his shoulders down to

his feet, only one idearemainedclearanddefinite—not to forgive her; only onevivid desire—to forget her.And thismust bemade clearto her—and to himself—byfrequent repetition. That washisideaofhisdutytohimself—to his race—to hisrespectable connections; tothe whole universe unsettledand shaken by this frightfulcatastrophe of his life. Hesawitclearlyandbelievedhe

was a strong man. He hadalways prided himself uponhisunflinchingfirmness.Andyet he was afraid. She hadbeenallinalltohim.Whatifhe should let the memory ofhis love for her weaken thesenseofhisdignity?Shewasa remarkable woman; hecould see that; all the latentgreatness of his nature—inwhichhehonestlybelieved—had been transfused into thatslight, girlish figure. Great

thingscouldbedone!Whatifhe should suddenly take hertohisheart,forgethisshame,and pain, and anger, and—follow her! What if hechanged his heart if not hisskin andmadeher life easierbetween the two loves thatwould guard her from anymischance!Hisheartyearnedforher.Whatifheshouldsaythat his love for her wasgreaterthan…“I will never forgive you,

Nina!”heshouted,leapingupmadly in the sudden fear ofhisdream.This was the last time in

his life that he was heard toraisehisvoice.Henceforthhespoke always in amonotonous whisper like aninstrument of which all thestrings but one are broken inalastringingclamourunderaheavyblow.She rose to her feet and

looked at him. The very

violence of his cry soothedher in an intuitive convictionofhislove,andshehuggedtoher breast the lamentableremnants of that affectionwith the unscrupulousgreediness of women whocling desperately to the veryscraps and rags of love, anykindoflove,asathingthatofright belongs to them and isthe very breath of their life.She put both her hands onAlmayer’s shoulders, and

looking at him half tenderly,halfplayfully,shesaid—“Youspeaksobecauseyou

loveme.”Almayershookhishead.“Yes,youdo,”sheinsisted

softly;thenafterashortpauseshe added, “and you willneverforgetme.”Almayer shivered slightly.

She could not have said amorecruelthing.“Here is the boat coming

now,” said Dain, his arm

outstretched towards a blackspeck on the water betweenthecoastandtheislet.They all looked at it and

remained standing in silencetill the little canoe camegently on the beach and aman landed and walkedtowards them. He stoppedsome distance off andhesitated.“Whatnews?”askedDain.“We have had orders

secretly and in the night to

takeofffromthis isletamanand a woman. I see thewoman.Which of you is theman?”“Come, delight of my

eyes,” said Dain to Nina.“Nowwego, andyourvoiceshall be for my ears only.You have spoken your lastwordstotheTuanPutih,yourfather.Come.”She hesitated for a while,

lookingatAlmayer,whokepthis eyes steadily on the sea,

thenshetouchedhisforeheadina lingeringkiss,anda tear—one of her tears—fell onhis cheek and ran down hisimmovableface.“Goodbye,”shewhispered,

andremainedirresolutetillhepushed her suddenly intoDain’sarms.“If you have any pity for

me,” murmured Almayer, asif repeating some sentencelearned by heart, “take thatwomanaway.”

He stood very straight, hisshoulders thrown back, hisheadheldhigh,andlookedatthem as they went down thebeach to the canoe, walkingenlaced ineachother’sarms.He lookedat the lineof theirfootstepsmarked in thesand.He followed their figuresmoving in the crudeblazeofthe vertical sun, in that lightviolent and vibrating, like atriumphal flourish of brazentrumpets. He looked at the

man’sbrownshoulders,attheredsarongroundhiswaist;atthe tall, slender, dazzlingwhitefigurehesupported.Helooked at the white dress, atthefallingmassesofthelongblackhair.Helookedatthemembarking, and at the canoegrowing smaller in thedistance, with rage, despair,andregretinhisheart,andonhis face a peace as that of acarved image of oblivion.Inwardly he felt himself torn

to pieces, butAli—who nowaroused—stood close to hismaster, saw on his featurestheblankexpressionof thosewho live in that hopelesscalm which sightless eyesonlycangive.The canoe disappeared,

and Almayer stoodmotionless with his eyesfixed on its wake. Ali fromunder the shade of his handexaminedthecoastcuriously.As the sun declined, the sea-

breeze sprang up from thenorthward and shivered withits breath the glassy surfaceofthewater.“Dapat!” exclaimed Ali,

joyously. “Got him, master!Got prau! Not there! Lookmore Tanah Mirrah side.Aha!Thatway!Master, see?Nowplain.See?”Almayer followed Ali’s

forefingerwithhiseyes foralong time in vain. At last hesighted a triangular patch of

yellow light on the redbackground of the cliffs ofTanjong Mirrah. It was thesail of the prau that hadcaughtthesunlightandstoodout, distinctwith its gay tint,on the dark red of the cape.The yellow triangle creptslowly from cliff to cliff, tillit cleared the last point oflandandshonebrilliantly fora fleetingminuteon theblueoftheopensea.Thentheprauboreuptothesouthward:the

lightwentoutofthesail,andall at once the vessel itselfdisappeared, vanishing in theshadowofthesteepheadlandthat looked on, patient andlonely, watching over theemptysea.Almayer never moved.

Round the little islet the airwas full of the talk of therippling water. The crestedwavelets ran up the beachaudaciously, joyously, withthe lightness of young life,

and died quickly,unresistingly, and graciously,in the wide curves oftransparent foam on theyellow sand. Above, thewhite clouds sailed rapidlysouthwards as if intent uponovertaking something. Aliseemedanxious.“Master,” he said timidly,

“timetogethousenow.Longway off to pull. All ready,sir.”“Wait,” whispered

Almayer.Now she was gone his

businesswastoforget,andhehad a strange notion that itshouldbedonesystematicallyand in order. To Ali’s greatdismay he fell on his handsand knees, and, creepingalong the sand, erasedcarefully with his hand alltracesofNina’sfootsteps.Hepiledupsmallheapsofsand,leaving behind him a line ofminiature graves right down

to the water. After buryingthe last slight imprint ofNina’s slipper he stood up,and, turninghis face towardsthe headland where he hadlastseentheprau,hemadeaneffort toshoutout loudagainhis firm resolve to neverforgive. Ali watching himuneasily saw only his lipsmove,butheardnosound.Hebroughthis footdownwithastamp.Hewas a firmman—firmasarock.Lethergo.He

never had a daughter. Hewould forget. He wasforgettingalready.Ali approached him again,

insisting on immediatedeparture, and this time heconsented, and they wenttogether towards their canoe,Almayer leading. For all hisfirmness he looked verydejected and feeble as hedragged his feet slowlythrough the sand on thebeach; and by his side—

invisible to Ali—stalked thatparticular fiend whosemission it is to jog thememories of men, lest theyshould forget themeaning oflife. He whispered intoAlmayer’s ear a childishprattle of many years ago.Almayer, his head bent onone side, seemed to listen tohis invisible companion, buthisfacewaslikethefaceofamanthathasdiedstruckfrombehind—a face from which

allfeelingsandallexpressionaresuddenlywipedoffbythehandofunexpecteddeath.Theysleptontheriverthat

night, mooring their canoeunder the bushes and lyingdown in the bottom side byside, in the absoluteexhaustion that kills hunger,thirst, all feeling and allthought in the overpoweringdesire for that deep sleepwhich is like the temporary

annihilationofthetiredbody.Next day they started againandfoughtdoggedlywiththecurrent all the morning, tillabout midday they reachedthe settlement and made fasttheirlittlecrafttothejettyofLingard and Co. Almayerwalked straight to the house,andAli followed, paddles onshoulder, thinking that hewould like to eat something.As they crossed the frontcourtyard they noticed the

abandoned look of the place.Ali looked in at the differentservants’ houses: all wereempty. In the back courtyardtherewasthesameabsenceofsound and life. In thecooking-shedthefirewasoutand the black embers werecold. A tall, lean man camestealthily out of the bananaplantation, and went awayrapidlyacrosstheopenspacelooking at them with big,frightened eyes over his

shoulder. Some vagabondwithout a master; there weremany such in the settlement,and they looked uponAlmayerastheirpatron.Theyprowled about his premisesand picked their living there,surethatnothingworsecouldbefall them than a shower ofcurses when they got in thewayofthewhiteman,whomthey trusted and liked, andcalled a fool amongstthemselves. In the house,

which Almayer enteredthrough the back verandah,theonlylivingthingthatmethis eyes was his smallmonkey which, hungry andunnoticed for the last twodays, began to cry andcomplaininmonkeylanguageas soon as it caught sight ofthe familiar face. Almayersoothed it with a few wordsand ordered Ali to bring insomebananas,thenwhileAliwas gone to get them he

stood in the doorway of thefrontverandah lookingat thechaosofoverturnedfurniture.Finallyhepickedupthetableand sat on it while themonkey let itself down fromtheroof-stickbyitschainandperched on his shoulder.When thebananascame theyhad their breakfast together;both hungry, both eatinggreedily and showering theskins round them recklessly,in the trusting silence of

perfect friendship. Ali wentaway, grumbling, to cooksome ricehimself, for all thewomen about the house haddisappeared;hedidnotknowwhere.Almayerdidnotseemtocare,and,afterhefinishedeating, he sat on the tableswinginghis legsandstaringat the river as if lost inthought.After some timehegotup

and went to the door of aroom on the right of the

verandah. That was theoffice. The office of LingardandCo.Heveryseldomwentin there. There was nobusinessnow,andhedidnotwantanoffice.Thedoorwaslocked, and he stood bitinghis lower lip, trying to thinkof the place where the keycould be. Suddenly heremembered: in thewomen’sroom hung upon a nail. Hewent over to the doorwaywhere the red curtain hung

downinmotionlessfolds,andhesitatedforamomentbeforepushing it aside with hisshoulderas ifbreakingdownsome solid obstacle. A greatsquare of sunshine enteringthrough the window lay onthe floor.On the left he sawMrs. Almayer’s big woodenchest, the lid thrown back,empty;near it thebrassnailsof Nina’s European trunkshone in the large initials N.A. on the cover. A few of

Nina’s dresses hung onwooden pegs, stiffened in alook of offended dignity attheir abandonment. Herememberedmaking thepegshimself andnoticed that theywere very good pegs.Wherewas the key? He lookedround and saw it near thedoor where he stood. It wasred with rust. He felt verymuch annoyed at that, anddirectly afterwards wonderedat his own feeling.What did

it matter? There soon wouldbe no key—no door—nothing! He paused, key inhand, and asked himselfwhether he knew well whathe was about. He went outagain on the verandah andstood by the table thinking.The monkey jumped down,and,snatchingabananaskin,absorbeditselfinpickingittoshredsindustriously.“Forget!” muttered

Almayer, and that word

startedbeforehimasequenceof events, a detailedprogramme of things to do.He knewperfectlywellwhatwas to be done now. Firstthis, then that, and thenforgetfulness would comeeasy. Very easy. He had afixed idea that if he shouldnot forget before he died hewould have to remember toall eternity. Certain thingshadtobetakenoutofhislife,stamped out of sight,

destroyed, forgotten. For along time he stood in deepthought, lost in the alarmingpossibilitiesofunconquerablememory, with the fear ofdeathandeternitybeforehim.“Eternity!”hesaidaloud,andthe sound of that wordrecalled him out of hisreverie. The monkey started,droppedtheskin,andgrinnedupathimamicably.Hewenttowardstheoffice

doorandwithsomedifficulty

managed to open it. Heenteredinacloudofdustthatroseunderhisfeet.Books open with torn

pages bestrewed the floor;other books lay about grimyand black, looking as if theyhad never been opened.Account books. In thosebooks he had intended tokeep day by day a record ofhisrisingfortunes.Longtimeago. A very long time. Formanyyearstherehasbeenno

record to keep on the blueand red ruled pages! In themiddle of the room the bigoffice desk, with one of itslegs broken, careened overlike the hull of a strandedship;mostofthedrawershadfallenout,disclosingheapsofpaper yellow with age anddirt. The revolving officechairstoodinitsplace,buthefound thepivotset fastwhenhe tried to turn it.Nomatter.He desisted, and his eyes

wandered slowly fromobjecttoobject.Allthosethingshadcost a lot of money at thetime.Thedesk,thepaper,thetorn books, and the brokenshelves,allunderathickcoatof dust. The very dust andbones of a dead and gonebusiness. He looked at allthese things, all thatwas leftafter somanyyears ofwork,of strife, of weariness, ofdiscouragement, conqueredso many times. And all for

what? He stood thinkingmournfullyofhispastlifetillhe heard distinctly the clearvoice of a child speakingamongst all this wreck, ruin,andwaste. He started with agreat fear in his heart, andfeverishly began to rake inthe papers scattered on thefloor, broke the chair intobits,splinteredthedrawersbybanging them against thedesk,andmadeabigheapofall that rubbish inonecorner

oftheroom.He came out quickly,

slammed the door after him,turned thekey, and, taking itout,rantothefrontrailoftheverandah, and, with a greatswingofhisarm,sentthekeywhizzing into the river. Thisdone hewent back slowly tothe table, called the monkeydown, unhooked its chain,andinducedittoremainquietin the breast of his jacket.Thenhesatagainonthetable

andlookedfixedlyatthedoorof the room he had just left.He listened also intently. Heheardadrysoundofrustling;sharp cracks as of dry woodsnapping; a whirr like of abird’s wings when it risessuddenly, and then he saw athin stream of smoke comethrough the keyhole. Themonkey struggled under hiscoat. Ali appeared with hiseyesstartingoutofhishead.“Master! House burn!” he

shouted.Almayer stood up holding

by the table. He could heartheyellsofalarmandsurprisein the settlement. Ali wrunghishands,lamentingaloud.“Stopthisnoise,fool!”said

Almayer, quietly. “Pick upmy hammock and blanketsand take them to the otherhouse.Quick,now!”The smoke burst through

the crevices of the door, andAli,withthehammockinhis

arms, cleared in one boundthestepsoftheverandah.“It has caught well,”

mutteredAlmayertohimself.“Bequiet,Jack,”headded,asthe monkey made a franticeffort to escape from itsconfinement.The door split from top to

bottom, and a rush of flameand smoke drove Almayeraway from the table to thefrontrailoftheverandah.Heheldon there till agreat roar

overheadassuredhimthattheroofwasablaze.Thenhe randown the steps of theverandah, coughing, halfchoked with the smoke thatpursuedhiminbluishwreathscurlingabouthishead.On the other side of the

ditch, separating Almayer’scourtyard from thesettlement, a crowd of theinhabitants of Sambir lookedat the burning house of thewhiteman.Inthecalmairthe

flames rushed up on high,coloured pale brick-red,withviolet gleams in the strongsunshine.The thincolumnofsmoke ascended straight andunwaveringtillitlostitselfintheclearblueofthesky,and,in the great empty spacebetween the two houses theinterested spectators couldseethetallfigureoftheTuanPutih, with bowed head anddraggingfeet,walkingslowlyaway from the fire towards

the shelter of “Almayer’sFolly.”In that manner did

Almayer move into his newhouse.He tookpossessionofthe new ruin, and in theundying follyofhisheart sethimselftowaitinanxietyandpain for that forgetfulnesswhich was so slow to come.He had done all he could.Every vestige of Nina’sexistencehadbeendestroyed;and now with every sunrise

heaskedhimselfwhether thelonged-for oblivion wouldcome before sunset, whetherit would come before hedied?Hewanted to liveonlylong enough to be able toforget,andthetenacityofhismemoryfilledhimwithdreadand horror of death; forshould it come before hecouldaccomplishthepurposeof his life he would have toremember for ever! He alsolonged for loneliness. He

wanted to be alone. But hewas not. In the dim light ofthe rooms with their closedshutters, in the brightsunshine of the verandah,whereverhewent,whicheverway he turned, he saw thesmallfigureofalittlemaidenwith pretty olive face, withlongblackhair,herlittlepinkrobe slipping off hershoulders, her big eyeslooking up at him in thetendertrustfulnessofapetted

child. Ali did not seeanything, but he also wasaware of the presence of achildinthehouse.Inhislongtalks by the evening fires ofthe settlement he used to tellhis intimate friends ofAlmayer’s strange doings.His master had turnedsorcerer in his old age. Alisaid that often when TuanPutihhadretiredforthenighthe could hear him talking tosomething in his room. Ali

thought that itwasa spirit intheshapeofachild.Heknewhis master spoke to a childfrom certain expressions andwords his master used. Hismaster spoke in Malay alittle, but mostly in English,which he, Ali, couldunderstand. Master spoke tothe child at times tenderly,then he would weep over it,laughat it, scold it, begof ittogoaway;curse it. Itwasabad and stubborn spirit. Ali

thought his master hadimprudently called it up, andnow could not get rid of it.Hismasterwasverybrave;hewas not afraid to curse thisspirit in the very Presence;and once he fought with it.Alihadheardagreatnoiseasof running about inside theroom and groans.Hismastergroaned.Spiritsdonotgroan.His master was brave, butfoolish. You cannot hurt aspirit.Aliexpectedtofindhis

master dead next morning,but he came out very early,looking much older than theday before, and had no foodallday.SofarAlitothesettlement.

ToCaptainFordhewasmuchmore communicative, for thegood reason that CaptainFord had the purse and gaveorders. On each of Ford’smonthly visits to Sambir Alihad to go on board with areportabout the inhabitantof

“Almayer’s Folly.” On hisfirst visit to Sambir, afterNina’s departure, Ford hadtaken charge of Almayer’saffairs. They were notcumbersome. The shed forthe storage of goods wasempty, the boats haddisappeared, appropriated—generally in night-time—byvarious citizens of Sambir inneed of means of transport.Duringagreatfloodthejettyof Lingard and Co. left the

bank and floated down theriver, probably in search ofmore cheerful surroundings;eventheflockofgeese—“theonly geese on the eastcoast”—departedsomewhere,preferring the unknowndangers of the bush to thedesolation of their old home.As time went on the grassgrewover the black patch ofground where the old houseused to stand, and nothingremainedtomarktheplaceof

the dwelling that hadsheltered Almayer’s younghopes, his foolish dream ofsplendid future, hisawakening,andhisdespair.Ford did not often visit

Almayer, for visitingAlmayer was not a pleasanttask. At first he used torespond listlessly to the oldseaman’s boisterous inquiriesabout his health; he evenmade efforts to talk, askingfornewsinavoicethatmade

itperfectlyclearthatnonewsfrom this world had anyinterest for him. Thengradually he became moresilent—not sulkily—but as ifhe was forgetting how tospeak.Heusedalsotohideinthe darkest rooms of thehouse, where Ford had toseek him out guided by thepatter of the monkeygalloping before him. Themonkey was always there toreceive and introduce Ford.

The little animal seemed tohave taken complete chargeofitsmaster,andwheneveritwished for his presence onthe verandah it would tugperseveringlyathisjacket,tillAlmayerobedientlycameoutinto the sunshine, which heseemedtodislikesomuch.One morning Ford found

himsittingontheflooroftheverandah,hisbackagainstthewall,hislegsstretchedstifflyout, his arms hanging by his

side.His expressionless face,his eyes open wide withimmobile pupils, and therigidityofhispose,madehimlook like an immense man-doll broken and flung thereoutoftheway.AsFordcameup the steps he turned hisheadslowly.“Ford,”hemurmuredfrom

thefloor,“Icannotforget.”“Can’t you?” said Ford,

innocently,withanattemptatjoviality: “I wish I was like

you.Iamlosingmymemory—age, I suppose; only theotherdaymymate—”He stopped, for Almayer

had got up, stumbled, andsteadied himself on hisfriend’sarm.“Hallo! You are better to-

day. Soon be all right,” saidFord, cheerfully, but feelingratherscared.Almayerletgohisarmand

stood very straight with hisheadupandshouldersthrown

back, looking stonily at themultitude of suns shining inripplesoftheriver.Hisjacketandhisloosetrousersflappedin the breeze on his thinlimbs.“Lethergo!”hewhispered

in a grating voice. “Let hergo.To-morrowIshallforget.I am a firmman,… firm asa…rock,…firm…”Ford looked at his face—

and fled. The skipper was atolerably firmmanhimself—

as thosewhohad sailedwithhim could testify—butAlmayer’s firmness wasaltogether too much for hisfortitude.Next time the steamer

calledinSambirAlicameonboardearlywithagrievance.He complained to Ford thatJim-Eng the Chinaman hadinvaded Almayer’s house,and actually had lived thereforthelastmonth.“And they both smoke,”

addedAli.“Phew! Opium, you

mean?”Ali nodded, and Ford

remained thoughtful; then hemuttered to himself, “Poordevil! The sooner the betternow.” In the afternoon hewalkeduptothehouse.“What are you doing

here?” he asked of Jim-Eng,whom he found strollingaboutontheverandah.Jim-Eng explained in bad

Malay, and speaking in thatmonotonous, uninterestedvoice of an opium smokerprettyfargone,thathishousewasold, the roof leaked,andthefloorwasrotten.So,beinganoldfriendformany,manyyears,hetookhismoney,hisopium, and two pipes, andcametoliveinthisbighouse.“There is plenty of room.

He smokes, and I live here.Hewill not smoke long,” heconcluded.

“Where ishenow?”askedFord.“Inside. He sleeps,”

answered Jim-Eng, wearily.Ford glanced in through thedoorway. In the dim light ofthe room he could seeAlmayerlyingonhisbackonthe floor, his head on awooden pillow, the longwhitebeardscatteredoverhisbreast, theyellowskinof theface, the half-closed eyelidsshowingthewhitesoftheeye

only….He shuddered and turned

away. As he was leaving henoticed a long strip of fadedred silk, with some Chineseletters on it, which Jim-Enghadjustfastenedtooneofthepillars.“What’sthat?”heasked.“That,” said Jim-Eng, in

his colourless voice, “that isthenameofthehouse.Allthesame like my house. Verygoodname.”

Ford looked at him forawhile and went away. Hedidnotknowwhatthecrazy-lookingmaze of the Chineseinscription on the red silkmeant. Had he asked Jim-Eng, that patient Chinamanwould have informed himwith proper pride that itsmeaning was: “House ofheavenlydelight.”In theeveningof thesame

day Babalatchi called onCaptain Ford. The captain’s

cabin opened on deck, andBabalatchi sat astride on thehighstep,whileFordsmokedhis pipe on the settee inside.Thesteamerwasleavingnextmorning, and the oldstatesmancameasusualforalastchat.“We had news from Bali

last moon,” remarkedBabalatchi. “A grandson isborn to the old Rajah, andthereisgreatrejoicing.”Fordsatupinterested.

“Yes,”wentonBabalatchi,in answer to Ford’s look. “Itoldhim.Thatwasbeforehebegantosmoke.”“Well, and what?” asked

Ford.“I escaped with my life,”

said Babalatchi, with perfectgravity, “because the whiteman isveryweakand fell ashe rushed upon me.” Then,afterapause,headded,“Sheismadwithjoy.”“Mrs. Almayer, you

mean?”“Yes, she lives in our

Rajah’s house. She will notdie soon.Suchwomen live along time,” said Babalatchi,withaslighttingeofregretinhis voice. “She has dollars,and she has buried them, butwe know where. We hadmuch trouble with thosepeople.Wehad topaya fineand listen to threats from thewhitemen,andnowwehavetobecareful.”Hesighedand

remained silent for a longwhile.Thenwithenergy:“There will be fighting.

There is a breath of war onthe islands. Shall I live longenoughtosee?…Ah,Tuan!”he went on, more quietly,“the old times were best.Even I have sailed withLanun men, and boarded inthe night silent ships withwhite sails. That was beforean English Rajah ruled inKuching. Then we fought

amongst ourselves and werehappy. Now when we fightwithyouwecanonlydie!”He rose to go. “Tuan,” he

said, “you remember the girlthat man Bulangi had? Herthatcausedallthetrouble?”“Yes,”saidFord.“Whatof

her?”“She grew thin and could

notwork.ThenBulangi,whoisathiefandapig-eater,gaveher to me for fifty dollars. Isent her amongstmywomen

togrow fat. Iwanted tohearthesoundofherlaughter,butshe must have beenbewitched, and … she diedtwo days ago. Nay, Tuan.Why do you speak badwords?Iamold—thatistrue—but why should I not likethesightofayoungfaceandthesoundofayoungvoiceinmy house?” He paused, andthen added with a littlemournful laugh, “I am like awhite man talking too much

of what is not men’s talkwhen they speak to oneanother.”And he went off looking

verysad.The crowd massed in a

semicirclebeforethestepsof“Almayer’s Folly,” swayedsilently backwards andforwards, and opened outbefore the group of white-robed and turbaned menadvancing through the grass

towards the house. Abdullawalked first, supported byReshid and followed by alltheArabsinSambir.Astheyentered the lanemadeby therespectful throng therewas asubdued murmur of voices,where the word “Mati” wasthe only one distinctlyaudible.Abdulla stoppedandlookedroundslowly.“Ishedead?”heasked.“May you live!” answered

the crowd in one shout, and

then there succeeded abreathlesssilence.Abdullamade a few paces

forward and found himselffor the last time face to facewithhisoldenemy.Whateverhe might have been once hewasnotdangerousnow,lyingstiffandlifeless inthetenderlight of the early day. Theonly white man on the eastcoastwasdead,andhis soul,delivered from the trammelsofhisearthlyfolly,stoodnow

in the presence of InfiniteWisdom. On the upturnedface there was that serenelook which follows thesudden relief from anguishand pain, and it testifiedsilently before the cloudlessheaven that the man lyingthere under the gaze ofindifferent eyes had beenpermitted to forget before hedied.Abdullalookeddownsadly

at this Infidel he had fought

so long and had bested somany times. Such was therewardoftheFaithful!YetintheArab’soldhearttherewasa feeling of regret for thatthinggoneoutofhis life.Hewas leaving fast behind himfriendships, and enmities,successes, anddisappointments—all thatmakes up a life; and beforehimwasonlytheend.Prayerwouldfilluptheremainderofthe days allotted to the True

Believer!Hetookinhishandthe beads that hung at hiswaist.“Ifoundhimhere,likethis,

inthemorning,”saidAli,inalowandawedvoice.Abdulla glanced coldly

oncemoreatthesereneface.“Let us go,” he said,

addressingReshid.Andastheypassedthrough

the crowd that fell backbefore them, the beads inAbdulla’shandclicked,while

in a solemn whisper hebreathedoutpiouslythenameof Allah! The Merciful! TheCompassionate!

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