Almayer's folly : a story of an eastern river

'! ^LMAYER'S
F O L LY

JOSEPH CONRAD

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ALMAYER'S
FOLLY

A STORY OF AN EASTERN RIVER BY

JOSEPH CONRAD

Qui de nous n'a eu sa ierre promtsf, son
jour d'extase et sa fin en exU? — Ami el.

Garden City 1917 New York

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

t(,

Copyright, 189^, hy

DOUBLEDAY, PaGE & COMPANY

/4ll rights reserved, including that of

translation into foreign languages,

including the Scandinavian

THE MEMORY
or

T. E

ALMAYER'S FOLLY

ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

CHAPTER I.

"Kaspar! Makan!"

The well-known shrill voice startled Almayer
from his dream of splendid future into the unpleas-
ant realities of the present hour. An unpleasant
voice too. He had heard it for many years, and with
every year he liked it less. No matter; there would
be an end to all this soon.

He shuffled uneasily, but took no further notice of
the call. Leaning with both his elbows on the bal-
ustrade of the verandah, he went on looking fixedly
at the great river that flowed — indifferent and
hurried — before his eyes. He liked to look at it
about the time of sunset; perhaps because at that
time the sinking sun would spread a glowing gold
tinge on the waters of the Pantai, and Almayer's
thoughts were often busy with gold; gold he had
failed to secure ; gold the others had secured — dis-
honestly, of course — or gold he meant to secure yet,
through his own honest exertions, for himself and
Nina. He absorbed himself in his dream of wealth

B I

2 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

and power away from this coast where he had dwelt
for so many years, forgetting the bitterness of toil
and strife in the vision of a great and splendid
reward. They would live in Europe, he and his
daughter. They would be rich and respected. No-
body would think of her mixed blood in the pres-
ence of her great beauty and of his immense wealth.
Witnessing her triumphs he would grow young
again, he would forget the twenty-five years of
heart-breaking struggle on this coast where he felt
like a prisoner. All this was nearly within his
reach. Let only Dain return ! And return soon he
must — in his own interest, for his own share. He
was now more than a week late ! Perhaps he would
return to-night.

Such were Almayer's thoughts as, standing on
the verandah of his new but already decaying house
— that last failure of his life — he looked on the
broad river. There was no tinge of gold on it this
evening, for it had been swollen by the rains, and
rolled an angry and muddy flood under his inatten-
tive eyes, carrying small drift-wood and big dead
logs, and whole uprooted trees with branches and
foliage, amongst which the water swirled and roared
angrily.

One of those drifting trees grounded on the shelv-
ing shore, just by the house, and Almayer, neglect-
ing his dream, watched it with languid interest.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 8

The tree swung slowly round, amid the hiss and
foam of the water, and soon getting free of the
obstruction began to move down stream again, rolling
slowly over, raising upwards a long, denuded branch,
like a hand lifted in mute appeal to heaven against
the river's brutal and unnecessary violence. Al-
raayer's interest in the fate of that tree increased
rapidly. He leaned over to see if it would clear the
low point below. It did ; then he drew back, think-
ing that now its course was free down to the sea,
and he envied the lot of that inanimate thing now-
growing small and indistinct in the deepening dark-
ness. As he lost sight of it altogether he began to
wonder how far out to sea it would drift. Would
the current carry it north or south? South, proba-
bly, till it drifted in sight of Celebes, as far as
Macassar, perhaps!

Macassar! Almayer's quickened fancy distanced
the tree on its imaginary voyage, but his memory
lagging behind some twenty years or more in point
of time saw a young and slim Almayer, clad all in
white and modest-looking, landing from the Dutch
mail-boat on the dusty jetty of Macassar, coming to
woo fortune in the godowns of old Hudig. It was
an important epoch in his life, the beginning of a
new existence for him. His father, a subordinate
official employed in the Botanical Gardens of Buiten-
zorg, was no doubt delighted to place his son in such

4 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

a firm. The young man himself, too, was nothing
loth to leave the poisonous shores of Java, and the
meagre comforts of the parental bungalow, where
the father grumbled all day at the stupidity of
native gardeners; and the mother, from the depths
of her long easy-chair, bewailed the lost glories of
Amsterdam, where she had been brought up, and of
her position as the daughter of a cigar dealer there.

Almayer had left his home with a light heart and
a lighter pocket, speaking English well, and strong
in arithmetic; ready to conquer the world, never
doubting that he would.

After those twenty years, standing in the close
and stifling heat of a Bornean evening, he recalled
with pleasurable regret the image of Hudig's lofty
and cool warehouses with their long and straight
avenues of gin cases and bales of Manchester goods;
the big door swinging noiselessly ; the dim light of the
place, so delightful after the glare of the streets;
the little railed-off spaces amongst piles of merchan-
dise where the Chinese clerks, neat, cool, and sad-
eyed, wrote rapidly and in silence amidst the din of
the working gangs rolling casks or shifting cases to
a muttered song, ending with a desperate yell. At
the upper end, facing the great door, there was a
larger space railed off, well lighted ; there the noise
was subdued by distance, and above it rose the soft
and continuous clink of silver guilders which other

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 5

discreet Chinamen were counting and piling up
under the supervision of Mr. Vinck, the cashier, the
genius presiding in the place — the right hand of
the Master.

In that clear space Almayer worked at his table
not far from a little green painted door, by which
always stood a Malay in a red sash and turban, and
whose hand, holding a small string dangling from
above, moved up and down with the regularity of a
machine. The string worked a punkah on the other
side of the green door, where the so-called private
office was, and where old Hudig — the Master — sat
enthroned, holding noisy receptions. Sometimes
the little door would fly open, disclosing to the
outer world, through the bluish haze of tobacco
smoke, a long table loaded with bottles of various
shapes and tall water-pitchers, rattan easy-chairs
occupied by noisy men in sprawling attitudes, while
the Master would put his head through, and, holding
by the handle, would grunt confidentially to Vinck ;
perhaps send an order thundering down the ware-
house, or spy a hesitating stranger and greet him
with a friendly roar, " Welgome, Gapitan ! ver' you
gome vrom ? Bali, eh ? Got bonies ? I vant bonies !
Vant all you got; ha! ha! ha! Gome in!" Then
the stranger was dragged in, in a tempest of yells,
the door was shut, and the usual noises refilled the
place; the song of the workmen, the rumble of bar-

6 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

rels, the scratch of rapid pens ; while above all rose
the musical chink of broad silver pieces streaming
ceaselessly through the yellow fingers of the atten-
tive Chinamen.

At that time Macassar was teeming with life and
commerce. It was the point in the islands where
tended all those bold spirits who, fitting out schoon-
ers on the Australian coast, invaded the Malay
Archipelago in search of money and adventure.
Bold, reckless, keen in business, not disinclined for
a brush with the pirates that were to be found on
many a coast as yet, making money fast, they used
to have a general "rendezvous " in the bay for pur-
poses of trade and dissipation. The Dutch mer-
chants called those men English pedlars ; some of
them were undoubtedly gentlemen for whom that
kind of life had a charm; most were seamen; the
acknowledged king of them all was Tom Lingard,
he whom the Malays, honest or dishonest, quiet
fishermen or desperate cut-throats, recognised as
" the Rajah-Laut " — the King of the Sea.

Almayer had heard of him before he had been
three days in Macassar, had heard the stories of his
smart business transactions, his loves, and also of
his desperate fights with the Sulu pirates, together
with the romantic tale of some child — a girl
— found in a piratical prau by the victorious Lin-
gard, when, after a long contest, he boarded the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 7

craft, driving the crew overboard. This girl, it was
generally known, Lingard had adopted, was having
her educated in some convent in Java, and spoke of
her as "my daughter." He had sworn a mighty
oath to marry her to a white man before he went
home and to leave her all his money. " And Cap-
tain Lingard has lots of money," would say Mr.
Vinck solemnly, with his head on one side, " lots of
money; more than Hudig!" And after a pause —
just to let his hearers recover from their astonish-
ment at such an incredible assertion — he would add
in an explanatory whisper, " You know, he has dis-
covered a river."

That was it! He had discovered a river! That
was the fact placing old Lingard so much above the
common crowd of sea-going adventurers Avho traded
with Hudig in the daytime and drank champagne,
gambled, sang noisy songs, and made love to half-
caste girls under the broad verandah of the Sunda
Hotel at night. Into that river, whose entrances
himself only knew, Lingard used to take his assorted
cargo of Manchester goods, brass gongs, rifles, and
gunpowder. His brig Flashy which he commanded
himself, would on those occasions disappear quietly
during the night from the roadstead while his com-
panions were sleej)ing off the effects of the midnight
carouse, Lingard seeing them drunk under the table
before going on board, himself unaffected by any

8 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

amount of liquor. Many tried to follow him and
jEind that land of plenty for gutta-percha and rattans,
pearl shells and birds' nests, wax and gum-dammar,
but the little Flash could outsail every craft in those
seas. A few of them came to grief on hidden sand-
banks and coral reefs, losing their all and barely
escaping with life from the cruel grip of this sunny
and smiling sea; others got discouraged; and for
many years the green and peaceful-looking islands
guarding the entrances to the promised land kept
their secret with all the merciless serenity of tropi-
cal nature. And so Lingard came and went on his
secret or open expeditions, becoming a hero in
Almayer's eyes by the boldness and enormous profits
of his ventures, seeming to Almayer a very great
man indeed as he saw him marching up the ware-
house, grunting a "how are you?" to Vinck, or
greeting Hudig, the Master, with a boisterous
"Hallo, old pirate! Alive yet?" as a preliminary
to transacting business behind the little green door.
Often of an evening, in the silence of the then de-
serted warehouse, Almayer putting away his papers
before driving home with Mr. Vinck, in whose
household he lived, would pause listening to the
noise of a hot discussion in the private ofiSce, would
hear the deep and monotonous growl of the Master,
and the roared-out interruptions of Lingard — two
mastiffs fighting over a marrowy bone. But to

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. ^

Almayer's ears it sounded like a quarrel of Titana
— a battle of the gods.

After a year or so Lingard, having been brought
often in contact with Almayer in the course of busi-
ness, took a sudden and, to the onlookers, a rather
inexplicable fancy to the young man. He sang his
praises, late at night, over a convivial glass, to his
cronies in the Sunda Hotel, and one fine morning
electrified Vinck by declaring that he must have
" that young fellow for a supercargo. Kind of cap-
tain's clerk. Do all my quill-di'iving for me."
Hudig consented. Almayer, with youth's natural
craving for change, was nothing loth, and packing
lis few belongings, started in the Flash on one of
those long cruises when the old seaman was wont to
visit almost every island in the archipelago. Months
slipped by, and Lingard's friendship seemed to in-
crease. Often pacing the deck with Almayer, when
the faint night breeze, heavy with aromatic exhala-
tions of the islands, shoved the brig gently along
under the peaceful and sparkling sky, did the old
seaman open his heart to his entranced listener. He
spoke of his past life, of escaped dangers, of big
profits in his trade, of new combinations that were
in the future to bring profits bigger still. Often he
had mentioned his daughter, the girl found in the
pirate prau, speaking of her with a strange assump-
tion of fatherly tenderness. " She must be a big girl

10 ALMAVKR'S KOLLY.

now," he used to say. "It's nigh unto four years
since I have seen her! Damme, Almayer, if I don'l
think we will run into Sourabaya this trip." And
after such a declaration he always dived into his
cabin muttering to himself, "Something must be
done — must be done." More than once he would
astonish Almayer by walking up to him rapidly,
clearing his throat with a powerful "Hem!" as if
he was going to say something, and then turning
abruptly away to lean over the bulwarks in silence,
and watch, motionless, for hours, the gleam and
sparkle of the phosphorescent sea along the ship's
side. It was the night before arriving in Sourabaya
when one of those attempts at confidential commu-
nication succeeded. After clearing his throat he
spoke. He spoke to some purpose. He wanted
Almayer to marry his adopted daughter. "And
don't you kick because you're white ! " he shouted,
suddenly, not giving the surprised young man the
time to say a word. " None of that with me ! No-
body will see the colour of your wife's skin. The
dollars are too thick for that, I tell you ! And mind
you, they will be thicker yet before I die. There
will be millions, Kaspar! Millions, I say! And
all for her — and for you, if you do what you are
told."

Startled by the unexpected proposal, Almayer
hesitated, and remained silent for a minute. He

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 11

was gifted with a strong and active imagination,
and in that short space of time Vie saw, as in a flash
of dazzling light, great piles of shining guilders,
and realised all the possibilities of an opulent exist-
ence. The consideration, the indolent ease of life
— for which he felt himself so well fitted — his
ships, his warehouses, his merchandise (old Lingard
would not live for ever), and crowning all, in the
far future gleamed like a fairy palace the big man-
sion in Amsterdam, that earthly paradise of his
dreams, where, made king amongst men by old Lin-
gard's money, he would pass the evening of his days
in inexpressible splendour. As to the other side of
the picture — the companionship for life of a Malay
girl, that legacy of a boatful of pirates — there was only
within him a confused consciousness of shame that he,

a white man Still, a convent education of four

years ! — and then she may mercifully die. He was
always lucky, and money is powerful! Go through
it. Why not? He had a vague idea of shutting
her up somewhere, anywhere, out of his gorgeous
future. Easy enough to dispose of a Malay woman,
a slave, after all, to his Eastern mind, convent or
no convent, ceremony or no ceremony.

He lifted his head and confronted the anxious
yet irate seaman.

"I — of course — anything you wish, Captain
Lingard."

12 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

"Call me father, my boy. She does," said the
mollified old adventurer. "Damme, though, if I
didn't think you were going to refuse. Mind you,
Kaspar, I always get my way, so it would have been
no use. But you are no fool."

He remembered well that time — the look, the
accent, the words, the effect they produced on him,
his very surroundings. He remembered the narrow
and slanting deck of the brig, the silent and sleep-
ing coast, the smooth and black surface of the sea,
with a great bar of gold laid on it by the rising
moon. He remembered it all, and he remembered
his feelings of mad exultation at the thought of
that fortune thrown into his hands. He was no fool
then, and he was no fool now. Circumstances had
been against him; the fortune was gone, but hope
remained.

He shivered in the night air, and suddenly became
aware of the intense darkness which, on the sun's
departure, had closed in upon the river, blotting out
the outlines of the opposite shore. Only the fire of
dry branches lit outside the stockade of the Rajah's
compound called fitfully into view the ragged trunks
of the surrounding trees, putting a stain of glowing
red half-way across the river, where the drifting logs
were hurrying towards the sea through the impene-
trable gloom. He had a hazy recollection of having
been called some time during the evening by his

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 13

wife. To his dinner probably. But a man busy
contemplating the wreckage of his past in the dawn
of new hopes cannot be hungry whenever his rice is
ready. Time he went home, though ; it was getting
late.

He stepped cautiously on the loose planks towards
the ladder. A lizard, disturbed by the noise,
emitted a plaintive note and scurried through the
long grass growing on the bank. Almayer de-
scended the ladder carefully, now thoroughly re-
called to the realities of life by the care necessary
to prevent a fall on the uneven ground, where the
stones, decaying planks, and half-sawn beams were
piled up in inextricable confusion. As he turned
towards the house where he lived — "my old house "
he called it — his ear detected the splash of paddles
away in the darkness of the river. He stood still in
the path, attentive and surprised at anybody being
on the river at this late hour during such a heavy
freshet. Now he could hear the paddles distinctly,
and even a rapidly exchanged word in low tones,
the heavy breathing of men fighting with the cur-
rent, and hugging the bank on which he stood.
Quite close, too, but it was too dark to distinguish
anything under the overhanging bushes.

"Arabs, no doubt," muttered Almayer to himself,
peering into the solid blackness. " What are they up
to now? Some of Abdulla's business; curse himl "

H ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

The boat was very close now.

"Oh, ya! Man !" hailed Almayer.

The sound of voices ceased, but the paddles
worked as furiously as before. Then the bush in
front of Almayer shook, and the sharp sound of the
paddles falling into the canoe rang in the quiet
night. They were holding on to the bush now ; but
Almayer could hardly make out an indistinct dark
shape of a man's head and shoulders above the bank.

"You AbduUa?" said Almayer, doubtfully.

A grave voice answered —

"Tuan Almayer is speaking to a friend. There
is no Arab here."

Almayer's heart gave a great leap.

"Dain!" he exclaimed. "At last! at last! I
have been waiting for you every day and every night.
I have nearly given you up."

"Nothing could have stopped me from coming
back here," said the other, almost violently. "Not
even death," he whispered to himself.

"This is a friend's talk, and is very good, " said
Almayer, heartily. " But you are too far here.
Drop down to the jetty, and let your men cook their
rice in my campong Avhile we talk in the house."

There was no answer to that invitation.

"What is it?" asked Almayer, uneasily. "There
is nothing wrong with the brig, I hope ? "

" The brig is where no Orang Blanda can lay his

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 15

hands on her," said Dain, with a gloomy tone in his
voice, which Almayer, in his elation, failed to notice.

" Right," he said. " But where are all your men ?
There are only two with you."

"Listen, Tuan Almaj-er," said Dain. "To-
morrow's sun shall see me in your house, and then
we will talk. Now I must go to the Rajah."

"To the Rajah! Why? What do you want with
Lakamba ? "

"Tuan, to-morrow we talk like friends. I must
see Lakamba to-night."

"Dain, you are not going to abandon me now,
when all is ready?" asked Almayer, in a pleading
voice.

"Have I not returned? But I must see Lakamba
first, for your good and mine."

The shadowy head disappeared abruptly. The
bush, released from the grasp of the bowman, sprung
back with a swish, scattering a shower of muddy
water over Almayer, as he bent forward, trying to
see.

In a little while the canoe shot into the streak of
light that streamed on the river from the big fire on
the opposite shore, disclosing the outline of two
men bending to their work, and a third figure in the
stern flourishing the steering paddle, his head cov-
ered with an enormous round hat, like a fantasti-
cally exaggerated mushroom.

16 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

Almayer watched the canoe till it passed out of
the line of light. Shortly after, the murmur of
many voices reached him across the water. He
could see the torches being snatched out of the burn-
ing pile, and rendering visible for a moment the
gate in the stockade, round which they crowded.
Then they went in, apparently. The torches dis-
appeared, and the scattered fire sent out only a dim
and fitful glare.

Almayer stepped homewards with long strides and
mind uneasy. Surely Dain was not thinking of
playing him false. It was absurd. Dain and
Lakamba were both too much interested in the
success of his scheme. Trusting to Malays was
poor work ; but then, even Malays have some sense
and understand their own interest. All would be
well — must be well. At this point in his medita-
tion he found himself at the foot of the steps lead-
ing to the verandah of his home. From the low
point of land where he stood he could see both
branches of the river. The main branch of the
Pantai was lost in complete darkness, for the fire at
the Rajah's had gone out altogether; but up the
Sambir reach his eye could follow the long line of
Malay houses crowding the bank, with here and
there a dim light twinkling through bamboo walls,
or a smoky torch burning on the platforms built out
over the river. Further away, where the island

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 17

ended in a low cliff, rose a dark mass of buildings
towering above the Malay structures. Founded
solidly on a firm ground with plenty of space,
starred by many lights burning strong and white,
with a suggestion of paraffin and lamp-glasses, stood
the house and the godowns of Abdulla bin Selim,
the great trader of Sambir. To Almayer the
sight was very distasteful, and he shook his fist
towards the buildings that in their evident pros-
perity looked to him cold and insolent, and contempt-
uous of his own fallen fortunes.

He mounted the steps of his house slowly.

In the middle of the verandah there was a round
table. On it a paraffin lamp without a globe shed
a hard glare on the three inner sides. The fourth
side was open, and faced the river. Between the
rough supports of the high-pitched roof hung torn
rattan screens. There was no ceiling, and the harsh
brilliance of the lamp was toned above into a soft
half-light that lost itself in the obscurity amongst
the rafters. The front wall was cut in two by the
doorway of a central passage closed by a red cur-
tain. The women's room opened into that passage,
which led to the back courtyard and to the cooking
shed. In one of the side walls there was a doorway.
Half obliterated words — " Office : Lingard and Co."
— were still legible on the dusty door, which looked
as if it had not been opened for a very long time.

18 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

Close to the other side wall stood a bent-wood
rocking-chair, and by the table and about the veran-
dah four wooden armchairs straggled forlornly, as
if ashamed of their shabby surroundings. A heap
of common mats lay in one corner, with an old
hammock slung diagonally above. In the other
corner, his head wrapped in a piece of red calico,
huddled into a shapeless heap, slept a Malay, one of
Almayer's domestic slaves — "my own people," he
used to call them. A numerous and rej)resentative
assembly of moths were holding high revels round
the lamp, to the spirited music of swarming mos-
quitoes. Under the palm-leaf thatch lizards raced
on the beams, calling softly. A monkey, chained
to one of the verandah supports — retired for the
night under the eaves — peered and grinned at
Almayer, as it swung to one of the bamboo roof-
sticks and caused a shower of dust and bits of dried
leaves to settle on the shabby table. The floor was
uneven, with many withered plants and dried earth
scattered about. A general air of squalid neglect
pervaded the place. Great red stains on the floor
and walls testified to frequent and indiscriminate
betel-nut chewing. The light breeze from the river
swayed gently the tattered blinds, sending from the
woods opposite a faint and sickly perfume as of
decaying flowers.

Under Almayer's heavy tread the boards of the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 19

verandah creaked loudly. The sleeper in the corner
moved uneasily, muttering indistinct words. There
was a slight rustle behind the curtained doorway,
and a soft voice asked in Malay, "Is it you, father?"

" Yes, Nina. I am hungry. Is everybody asleep
in this house?"

Almayer spoke jovially and dropped with a con-
tented sigh into the armchair nearest to the table.
Nina Almayer came through the curtained doorway,
followed by an old Malay woman, who busied her-
self in setting upon the table a plateful of rice and
fish, a jar of water, and a bottle half full of genever.
After carefully placing before her master a cracked
glass tumbler and a tin spoon, she went away noise-
lessly. Nina stood by the table, one hand lightly
resting on its edge, the other hanging listlessly by
her side. Her face, turned towards the outer dark-
ness, thi-ough which her dreamy eyes seemed to see
some entrancing picture, wore a look of impatient
expectancy. She was tall for a half-caste, with the
correct profile of the father, modified and strength-
ened by the squareness of the lower part of the face
inherited from her maternal ancestors — the Sulu
pirates. Her firm mouth, with the lips slightly
parted and disclosing a gleam of white teeth, put a
vague suggestion of ferocity into the impatient
expression of her features. And yet her dark and
perfect eyes had all the tender softness of expression

20 ALMAYER'S FOLIA'.

common to Malay women, but with a gleam of
superior intelligence; they looked gravely, wide
open and steady, as if facing something invisible to
all other eyes, while she stood there all in white,
straight, flexible, graceful, unconscious of herself,
her low but broad forehead crowned with a shining
mass of black, long hair falling in heavy tresses
over her shoulders, making her pale olive complex-
ion look paler still by the contrast of its coal-black
hue.

Almayer attacked his rice greedily, but after a few
mouthfuls he paused, spoon in hand, and looked at
his daughter curiously.

" Did you hear a boat pass about half an hour ago,
Nina?" he asked.

The girl gave him a quick glance, and moving
away from the light stood with her back to the table.

"No," she said slowly.

" There was a boat. At last! Dain himself ; and
he went on to Lakamba, I know it, for he told me
so. I spoke to him, but he would not come here
to-night. Will come to-morrow, he said."

He swallowed another spoonful, then said —

"I am almost happy to-night, Nina. I can see
the end of a long road, and it leads us away from
this miserable swamp. We shall soon get away
from here, I and you, my dear little girl, and
then "

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 21

He rose from the table and stood looking fixedly
before him as if contemplating some enchanting
vision.

"And then," he went on, "we shall be happy, you
and I. Live rich and respected far from here, and
forget this life, and all this struggle, and all this
misery! "

He approached his daughter and passed his hand
caressingly over her hair.

"It is bad to have to trust a Malay," he said,
" but I must own that this Dain is a perfect gentle-
man — a perfect gentleman," he repeated.

"Did you ask him to come here, father?" in-
quired Nina, not looking at him.

"Well, of course. We shall start on the day
after to-morrow," said Almayer, joyously. "We
must not lose any time. Are you glad, little girl?"

She was nearly as tall as himself, but he liked to
recall the time when she was little and they were
all in all to each other.

"I am glad," she said, very low.

"Of course," said Almayer, vivaciously, "you
cannot imagine what is before you. I myself have
not been to Europe, but I have heard my mother
talk so often that I seem to know all about it. We
shall live a — a glorious life. You shall see."

Again he stood silent by his daughter's side look-
ing at that enchanting vision. After a while he

22 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

shook his clenched hand towards the sleeping settle-
ment.

"Ah! my friend Abdulla," he cried, "we shall
see who will have the best of it after all these
years ! "

He looked up the river and remarked calmly:

"Another thunder-storm. Well! No thunder
will keep me awake to-night, I know ! Good-
night, little girl," he whispered, tenderly kissing
her cheek. "You do not seem to be very happy
to-night, but to-morrow you will show a brighter
face. Eh?"

Nina had listened to her father with her face
unmoved, with her half-closed eyes still gazing into
the night now made more intense by a heavy
thunder-cloud that had crept down from the hills,
blotting out the stars, merging sky, forest, and river
into one mass of almost palpable blackness. The
faint breeze had died out, but the distant rumble of
thunder and pale flashes of lightning gave warning
of the approaching storm. With a sigh the girl
turned towards the table.

Almayer was in his hammock now, already half
asleep.

"Take the lamp, Nina," he muttered drowsily.
"This place is full of mosquitoes. Go to sleep,
daughter."

But Nina put the lamp out and turned back again

AT.MAYER'S FOLIA'. 23

towards the balustrade of the verandah, standing
with her arm round the wooden support and looking
eagerly towards the Pantai reach. And motionless
there in the still and oppressing calm of the tropical
night she could see at each flash of lightning the
forest lining both banks up the river bending before
the furious blast of the coming tempest; she saw
the upper reach of the river whipped into white foam
by the wind, and the black clouds torn into fantas-
tic shapes trailing low over the swaying trees.
Round her all was as yet stillness and peace, but she
could hear afar off the roar of the wind, the hiss of
heavy rain, the wash of the waves on the tormented
river. It came nearer and nearer, with loud thunder-
claps and long flashes of vivid lightning, followed
by short periods of appalling blackness. When the
storm reached the low point dividing the river, the
house shook in the wind, and the rain pattered loudly
on the palm-leaf roof, the thunder spoke in one
prolonged roll, and the incessant lightning disclosed
a turmoil of leaping water, driving logs, and the big
trees bending before a brutal and merciless force.

Undisturbed by the nightly event of the rainy
monsoons the father slept quietly, oblivious alike
of his hopes, his misfortunes, his friends, and his
enemies ; and the daughter stood motionless, at each
flash of lightning eagerly scanning the broad rivei
with a steady and anxious gaze.

CHAPTER II.

When, in compliance with Lingard's abrupt
demand, Almayer consented to wed the Malay
girl, no one knew that on the day when the inter-
esting young convert had lost all her natural rela-
tions and found a white father, she had been
fighting desperately like the rest of them on board
the prau, and was only prevented from leaping
overboard, like the few other survivors, by a
severe wound in the leg. There, on the fore-deck
of the prau, old Lingard found her under a heap
of dead and dying pirates, and had her carried on
the poop of the Flash before the Malay craft was
set on fire and sent adrift. She was conscious,
and in the great peace and stillness of the tropi-
cal evening succeeding the turmoil of the battle,
she watched all she held dear on earth after her
own savage manner, drift away into the gloom in
a great roar of flame and smoke. She lay there
unheeding the careful hands attending to her
wound, silent and absorbed in gazing at the
funeral pile of those brave men she had so much

2A

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 25

admired and so well helped in their contest with
the redoubtable ''Rajah-Laut."

The light night breeze fanned the brig gently to
the southward, and the great blaze of light got
smaller and smaller till it twinkled only on the hori-
zon like a setting star. It set : the heavy canopy
of smoke reflected the glare of hidden flames for a
short time and then disappeared also.

She realised that with this vanishing gleam her
old life departed too. Thenceforth there was sla-
very in the far countries, amongst strangers, in
unknown and perhaps terrible surroundings. Being
fourteen years old, she realised her position and
came to that conclusion, the only one possible to
a Malay girl, soon ripened under a tropical sun,
and not unaware of her personal charms, of which
she heard many a young brave warrior of her
father's crew express an appreciative admiration.
There was in her the dread of the unknown ;
otherwise she accepted her position calmly, after
the manner of her people, and even considered it
quite natural ; for was she not a daughter of war-
riors, conquered in battle, and did she not belong
rightfully to the victorious Rajah? Even the evi-
dent kindness of the terrible old man must spring,
she thought, from admiration for his captive, and
the flattered vanity eased for her the pangs of sor-

26 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

row after such an awful calamity. Perhaps had she
known of the high walls, the quiet gardens, and
the silent nuns of the Samarang convent, where
her destiny was leading her, she would have sought
death in her dread and hate of such a restraint.
But in imagination she pictured to herself the
usual life of a Malay girl — the usual succession
of heavy work and fierce love, of intrigues, gold
ornaments, of domestic drudgery, and of that great
but occult influence which is one of the few rights
of half-savage womankind. But her destiny in the
rough hands of the old sea-dog, acting under
unreasoning impulses of the heart, took a strange
and to her a terrible shape. She bore it all — the
restraint and the teaching and the new faith —
with calm submission, concealing her hate and con-
tempt for all that new life. She learned the lan-
guage very easily, yet understood but little of the
new faitn the good sisters taught her, assimilating
quickly onl}^ the superstitious elements of the relig-
ion. She called Lingard father, gently and caress-
ingly, at each of his short and noisy visits, under
the clear impression that he was a great and dan-
gerous power it was good to propitiate. Was he
not now her master? And during those long four
years she nourished a hope of finding favour in his
eyes and ultimately becoming his wife, councillor,
and guide.

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. J 7

Those dreams of the future were dispelled by
the Rajah-Laut's ^ fiat," which made Almayer's
fortune, as that young man fondly hoped. And
dressed in the hateful finery of Europe, the centre
of an interested circle of Batavian society, the
young convert stood before the altar with an un-
known and sulky-looking white man. For Almayer
was uneasy, a little disgusted, and greatly inclined
to run away. A judicious fear of the adopted
father-in-law and a just regard for his own mate-
rial welfare prevented him from making a scandal ;
yet, while swearing fidelity, he was concocting
plans for getting rid of the pretty Malay girl in
a more or less distant future. She, however, had
retained enough of conventual teaching to under-
stand well that according to white men's laws she
was going to be Almayer's companion and not his
slave, and promised to herself to act accordingly.

So when the Flash freighted with materials for
building a new house left the harbour of Batavia,
taking away the young couple into the unknown
Borneo, she did not carry on her deck so much
love and happiness as old Lingard was wont to
boast of before his casual friends in the verandahs
of various hotels. The old seaman himself was
perfectly happy. Now he had done his duty by
the girl. " You know I made her an orphan," he
often concluded solemnly, when talking about his

28 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

own affairs to a scratch audience of shore loafers
— as it was his habit to do. And the approbative
shouts of his half-intoxicated auditors filled his
simple soul with delight and pride. " I carry every-
thing right through," was another of his sayings,
and in pursuance of that principle he pushed the
building of house and godowns on the Pantai River
with feverish haste. The house for the young
couple ; the godowns for the big trade Almayer
was going to develop while he (Lingard) would
be able to give himseli up to some mysterious work
which was only spoken of in hints, but was under-
stood to relate to gold and diamonds in the interior
of the island. Almayer was impatient too. Had
he known what was before him he might not have
been so eager and full of hope as he stood watching
the last canoe of the Lingard expedition disappear
in the bend up the river. When, turning round,
he beheld the pretty little house, the big godowns
built neatly by an army of Chinese carpenters, the
new jetty round which were clustered the trading
canoes, he felt a sudden elation in the thought
that the world was his.

But the world had to be conquered first, and its
conquest was not so easy as he thought. He was
very soon made to understand that he was not
wanted in that corner of it where old Lingard and
his own weak will placed him, in the midst of

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 29

unscrupulous intrigues and of a fierce trade com-
petition. The Arabs had found out the river, had
established a trading post in Sambir, and where
they traded they would be masters and suffer no
rival. Lingard returned unsuccessful from his first
expedition, and departed again, spending all the
profits of the legitimate trade on his mysterious
journeys. Almayer struggled with the difficulties
of his position, friendless and unaided, save for the
protection given to him for Lingard's sake by the
old Rajah, the predecessor of Lakamba. Lakamba
himself, then living as a private individual on a
rice clearing, seven miles down the river, exercised
all his influence towards the help of the white man's
enemies, plotting against the old Rajah and Almayer
with a certainty of combination, pointing clearly to
a profound knowledge of their most secret affairs.
Outwardly friendly, his portly form was often to
be seen on Almayer's verandah ; his green turban
and gold-embroidered jacket shone in the front rank
of the decorous throng of Malays coming to greet
Lingard on his returns from the interior ; his
salaams were of the lowest, and his hand-shakings
of the heartiest, when welcoming the old trader.
But his small eyes took in the signs of the times,
and he departed from those interviews with a
satisfied and furtive smile to hold long consultations
with his friend and ally, Syed Abdulla, the chief

30 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

of the Arab trading post, a man of great wealth
and of great influence in the islands-
It was currently believed at that time in the
settlement that Lakamba's visits to Almayer's house
were not limited to those official interviews. Often
on moonlight nights the belated fishermen of Sam-
bira saw a small canoe shooting out from the narrow
creek at the back of the white man's house, and the
solitary occupant paddle cautiously down the river
in the deep shadows of the bank ; and those events,
duly reported, were discussed round the evening
fires far into the night with the cynicism of expres-
sion common to aristocratic Malays, and with a
malicious pleasure in the domestic misfortunes of the
Orang Blanda — the hated Dutchman. Almayer
went on struggling desperately, but with a feeble-
ness of purpose depriving him of all chance of suc-
cess against men so unscrupulous and resolute as
his rivals the Arabs. The trade fell away from
the large godowns, and the godowns themselves
rotted piecemeal. The old man's banker, Hudig
of Macassar, failed, and with this went the whole
available capital. The profits of past years had
been swallowed up in Lingard's exploring craze.
Lingard was in the interior — perhaps dead — at all
events giving no sign of life. Almayer stood alone
in the midst of those adverse circumstances, deriving
only a little comfort from the companionship of his

ALMAYER'S fOLLY. 31

little daughter, born two years after the marriage,
ami at the time some six years old. His wife had
soon commenced to treat him with a savage con-
tempt expressed by sulky silence, only occasionally
varied by a flood of savage invective. He felt
she hated him, and saw her jealous eyes watching
himself and the child with almost an expression of
hate. She was jealous of the little girl's evident
preference for the father, and Almayer felt he was
not safe with that woman in the house. While
she was burning the furniture, and tearing down
the pretty curtains in her unreasoning hate of those
signs of civilisation, Almayer, cowed by these out-
bursts of savage nature, meditated in silence on
the best way of getting rid of her. He thought
of everything ; even planned murder in an unde-
cided and feeble sort of way, but dared do nothing
— expecting every day the return of Lingard with
news of some immense good fortune. He returned
indeed, but aged, ill, a ghost of his former self, with
the fire of fever burning in his sunken eyes, almost
the only survivor of the numerous expedition. But
he was successful at last ! Untold riches were in
his grasp ; he wanted more money — only a little
more to realise a dream of fabulous fortune. And
Hudig had failed ! Ahuayer scraped all he could
tog«^ther, but the old man wanted more. If Almayer
could not get it he would go to Singapore — to

32 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

Europe even, but before all to Singapore ; and he
would take the little Nina with him. The child
must be brought up decently. He had good friends
in Singapore who would take care of her and have
her taught properly. All would be well, and that
girl, upon whom the old seaman seemed to have
transferred all his former affection for the mother,
would be the richest woman in the East — in the
world even. So old Lingard shouted, pacing the
verandah with his heavy quarter-deck step, ges-
ticulating with a smouldering cheroot ; ragged,
dishevelled, enthusiastic ; and Almayer, sitting hud-
dled up on a pile of mats, thought with dread
of the separation with the only human being he
loved — with greater dread still, perhaps, of the
scene with his wife, the savage tigress deprived of
her young. She will poison me, thought the poor
wretch, well aware of that easy and final manner
of solving the social, political, or family problems
in Malay life^

To his great surprise she took the news very
quietly, giving only him and Lingard a furtive
glance, and saying not a word. This, however,
did not prevent her the next day from jumping
in the river and swimming after the boat in which
Lingard was carrying away the nurse with the
screaming child. Almayer had to give chase with
his whale-boat and drag her in by the hair in the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 33

midst of cries and curses enough to make heaven
fall. Yet after two days spent in wailing, she
returned to her former mode of life, chev^ing betel-
nut, and sitting all day amongst her women in
stupefied idleness. She aged very rapidly after
that, and only roused herself from her apathy to
acknowledge by a scathing remark or an insulting
exclamation the accidental presence of her hus-
band. He had built for her a riverside hut in
the compound where she dwelt in perfect seclusion.
Lakamba's visits had ceased when, by a convenient
decree of Providence and the help of a little
scientific manipulation, the old ruler of Sambir
departed this life. Lakamba reigned in his stead
now, having been well served by his Arab friends
with the Dutch authorities. Syed AbduUa was
the great man and trader of the Pantai. Almayer
lay ruined and helpless under the close-meshed
net of their intrigues, owing his life only to his
supposed knowledge of Lingard's valuable secret.
Lingard had disappeared. He wrote once from
Singapore saying the child was well, and under
the care of a Mrs. Vinck, and that he himself was
going to Europe to raise money for the great
enterprise. " He was coming back soon. There
would be no difficulties," he wrote ; " people would
rush in with their money." Evidently they did
not. for there was onl}- one letter more from him

34 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

saying he was ill, had found no relation living, but
little else besides. Then came a complete silence.
Europe had swallowed up the Rajah-Laut appar-
ently, and Almayer looked vainly westward for a
ray of light out of the gloom of his shattered
hopes. Years passed, and the rare letters from
Mrs. Vinck, later on from the girl herself, were
the only thing to be looked to to make life bear-
able amongst the triumphant savagery of the river.
Almayer lived now alone, having even ceased to
visit his debtors who would not pay, sure of
Lakamba's protection. The faithful Sumatrese Ali
cooked his rice and made his coffee, for he dared
not trust any one else, and least of all his wife.
He killed time wandering sadly in the overgrown
paths round the house, visiting the ruined godowns
where a few brass guns covered with verdigris
and only a few broken cases of mouldering Man-
chester goods reminded him of the good early
times when all this was of life and merchandise,
and he overlooked a busy scene on the river bank,
his little daughter by his side. Now the up-coun-
try canoes glided past the little rotten wharf of
Lingard and Co., to paddle up the Pantai branch,
and cluster round the new jetty belonging to
Abdulla. Not that they loved Abdulla, but they
dared not trade with the man whose star had
set. Had they done so they knew there was no

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 35

mercy to be expected from Arab or Rajah; no rice
to be got on credit in the times of scarcity from
either; and Almayer could not help them, having
at times hardly enough for himself. Almayer, in
his isolation and despair, often envied his near
neighbour the Chinaman, Jim-Eng, whom he could
see stretched on a pile of cool mats, a wooden
pillow under his head, an opium pipe in his nerve-
less fingers. He did not seek, however, consola-
tion in opium — perhaps it was too expensive —
perhaps his white man's pride saved him from that
degradation; but most likely it was the thought
of his little daughter in the far-off Straits Settle-
ments. He heard from her oftener since Abdulla
bought a steamer, which ran now between Singa-
pore and the Pantai settlement every three months
or so. Almayer felt himself nearer his daughter.
He longed to see her, and planned a voyage to
Singapore, but put off his departure from year t(»
year, always expecting some favourable turn of fort-
une. He did not want to meet her with empty
hands and with no words of hope on his lips. He
could not take her back into that savage life to
which he was condemned himself. He was also a
little afraid of her. What would she think of
him? He reckoned the years. A grown woman.
A civilised woman, young and hopeful; while he
felt old and hopeless, and very much like those

36 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

savages round him. He asked himself what was
going to be her future. He could not answer that
question yet, and he dared not face her. And yet
he longed after her. He hesitated for years.

His hesitation was put an end to by Nina's unex-
pected appearance in Sambir. She arrived in the
steamer under the captain's care. Almayer beheld
her with surprise not unmixed with wonder. Dur-
ing those ten years the child had changed into a
woman, black -haired, olive-skinned, tall, and beauti-
ful, with great sad eyes, where the startled expres-
sion common to Malay womankind was modified by
a thoughtful tinge inherited from her European
ancestry. Almayer thought with dismay of the
meeting of his wife and daughter, of what this
grave girl in European clothes would think of her
betel-nut chewing mother, squatting in a dark hut,
disorderly, half naked, and sulky. He also feared
an outbreak of temper on the part of that pest of a
woman he had hitherto managed to keep tolerably
quiet, thereby saving the remnants of his dilapidated
furniture. And he stood there before the closed
door of the hut in the blazing sunshine listening
to the murmur of voices, wondering what went on
inside, wherefrom all the servant-maids had been
expelled at the beginning of the interview, and now
stood clustered by the palings with half-covered
faces in a chatter of curious speculation. He forgot

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 37

himself there trying to catch a stray word through
the bamboo walls, till the captain of the steamer,
who had walked up with the girl, fearing a sun-
stroke, took him under the arm and led him into the
shade of his own verandah where Nina's trunk stood
already, having been landed by the steamer's men.
As soon as Captain Ford had his glass before him
and his cheroot lighted, Almayer asked for the
explanation of his daughter's unexpected arrival.
Ford said little beyond generalising in vague but
violent terms upon the foolishness of women in
general, and of Mrs. Vinck in particular.

" You know, Kaspar," said he, in conclusion, to
the excited Almayer, " it is deucedly awkward to
have a half-caste girl in the house. There's such a
lot of fools about. There was that young fellow
from the bank who used to ride to the Vinck bun-
galow early and late. That old woman thought it
was for that Emma of hers. When she found out
what he wanted exactly, there was a row, I can tell
you. She would not have Nina — not an hour longer
— in the house. Fact is, I heard of this affair and
took the girl to my wife. My wife is a pretty good
woman — as women go — and upon my word we
would have kept the girl for you, only she would
not stay. Now, then ! Don't flare up, Kaspar. Sit
still. What can you do? It is better so. Let her
stay with you. She was never happy over there.

38 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

Those two Vinck girls are no better than dressed-up
monkeys. They slighted her. You can't make her
white. It's no use you swearing at me. You can't.
She is a good girl for all that, but she would not tell
my wife anything. If you want to know, ask her
yourself ; but if I was you I would leave her alone.
You are welcome to her passage money, old fellow,
if you are short now." And the skipper, throwing
away his cigar, walked off to "wake them up on
board," as he expressed it.

Almayer vainly expected to hear of the cause of
his daughter's return from his daughter's lips. Not
that day, not on any other day, did she ever allude
to her Singapore life. He did not care to ask, awed
by the calm impassiveness of her face, by those
solemn eyes looking past him on the great, still
forests sleeping in majestic repose to the murmur
of the broad river. He accepted the situation,
happy in the gentle and protecting affection the
girl showed him, fitfully enough, for she had, as
she called it, her bad days when she used to visit
her mother and remain long hours in the riverside
hut, coming out as inscrutable as ever, but with a
contemptuous look and a short word ready to answer
any of his speeches. He got used even to that, and
on those days kept quiet, although greatly alarmed
by his wife's influence upon the girl. Otherwise
Nina adapted herself wonderfully to the circum-

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 39

stances of a half -savage and miserable life. Slie
accepted without question or apparent disgust the
neglect, the decay, the poverty of the household,
the absence of furniture, and the preponderance of
rice diet on the family table. She lived with
Alraayer in the little house (now sadly decayed)
built originally by Lingard for the young couple.
The Malays eagerly discussed lier arrival. There
were at the beginning crowded levees of Malay
women with their children, seeking eagerly after
" Ubat " for all the ills of the flesh from the young
Mem Putih. In the cool of the evening grave
Arabs in long white shirts and yellow sleeveless
jackets walked slowly on the dusty path by the
riverside towards Almayer's gate, and made solemn
calls upon that Unbeliever under shallow pretences
of business, only to get a glimpse of the young girl
in a highly decorous manner. Even Lakamba came
out of his stockade in a great pomp of war canoes
and red umbrellas, and landed on the rotten little
jetty of Lingard and Co. He came, he said, to buy
a couple of brass guns as a present to his friend the
chief of Sambir Dyaks ; and while Almayer, sus-
picious but polite, busied himself in unearthing the
old popguns in the godowns, the Rajah sat on an
armchair in the verandah, surrounded by his respect-
ful retinue waiting in vain for Nina's appearance.
She was in one of her bad days, and remained in

40 ALMAYEK'S FOLLY.

her mother's hut watching with her the ceremonious
proceedings on the verandah. The Rajah departed,
baffled but courteous, and soon Almayer began to
reap the benefit of improved relations with the ruler
in the shape of the recovery of some debts, paid to
him with many apologies and many a low salaam
by debtors till then considered hopelessly insolvent.
Under these improving circumstances Almayer
brightened up a little. All was not lost perhaps.
Those Arabs and Malays saw at last that he was a
man of some ability, he thought. And he began,
after his manner, to plan great things, to dream of
great fortunes for himself and Nina. Especially for
Nina ! Under these vivifying impulses he asked
Captain Ford to write to his friends in England
making inquiries after Lingard. Was he alive or
dead ? If dead, had he left any papers, documents •,
any indications or hints as to his great enterprise ?
Meantime he had found amongst the rubbish in one
of the empty rooms a note-book belonging to the old
adventurer. He studied the crabbed handwriting of
its pages, and often grew meditative over it. Other
things also woke him up from his apathy. The stir
made in the whole of the island by the establish-
ment of the British Borneo Company affected even
the sluggish flow of the Pantai life. Great changes
were expected ; annexation was talked of ; the Arabs
grew civil. Almayer began building his new house

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 41

for the use of the future engineers, agents, or settlers
of the new Company. He spent every available
guilder on it with a confiding heart. One thing
only disturbed his happiness : his wife came out
of her seclusion, importing her green jacket, scant
sarongs, shrill voice, and witch-like appearance, into
his quiet life in the small bungalow. And his
daughter seemed to accept that savage intrusion into
their daily existence with wonderful equanimity.
He did not like it, but dared say nothing.

CHAPTER TIL

The deliberations conducted in London have a
far-reaching importance, and so the decision issued
from the fog-veiled offices of the Borneo Company
darkened for Almayer the brilliant sunshine of the
Tropics, and added another drop of bitterness to the
cup of his disenchantments. The claim to that part
of the East Coast was abandoned, leaving the Pantai
River under the nominal power of Holland. In
Sambir there was joy and excitement. The slaves
were hurried out of sight into the forest and
jungle, and the flags were run up to tall poles in
the Rajah's compound in expectation of a visit
from Dutch man-of-war boats.

The frigate remained anchored outside the mouth
of the river and the boats came up in tow of
the steam launch, threading their way cautiously
amongst a crowd of canoes filled with gaily dressed
Malays. The officer in command listened gravely
to the loyal speeches of Lakamba, returned the
salaams of Abdulla, and assured those gentlemen in
choice Malay of the great Rajah's — down in Batavia

42

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 43

— friendship and goodwill towards the ruler and
inhabitants of this model state of Sambir.

Almayer from his verandah watched across the
river the festive proceedings, heard the report of
brass guns saluting the new flag presented to La-
karaba, and the deep murmur of the crowd of
spectators surging round the stockade. The smoke
of the firing rose in white clouds on the green
background of the forests, and he could not helj)
comparing his own fleeting hopes to the rapidly
disappearing vapour. He was by no means patri-
otically elated by the event, yet he had to force
himself into a gracious behaviour when, the ofiicial
reception being over, the naval officers of the
Commission crossed the river to pay a visit to the
solitary white man of whom they had heard, no
doubt wishing also to catch a glimpse of his
daughter. In that they were disappointed, Nina
refusing to show herself ; but they seemed easily
consoled by the gin and cheroots set before them
by the hospitable Almayer ; and sprawling comfort-
ably on the lame armchairs under the shade of the
verandah, while the blazing sunshine outside seemed
to set the great river simmering in the heat, they
filled the little bungalow with the unusual sounds
of European languages, with noise and laughter
produced by naval witticisms at the expense of
the fat Lakamba whom they had been compliment-

44 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

ing so much that very morning. The younger
men in an access of good fellowship made their
host talk, and Almayer, excited by the sight of
European faces, by the sound of European voices,
opened his heart before the sympathising strangers,
unaware of the amusement the recital of his many
misfortunes caused to those future admirals. They
drank his health, wished him many big diamonds
and a mountain of gold, expressed even an envy of
the high destinies awaiting him yet. Encouraged
by so muoh friendliness, the grey-headed and foolish
dreamer invited his guests to visit his new house.
They went there through the long grass in a
straggling procession while their boats were got
ready for the return down the river in the cool
of the evening. And in the great empty rooms
where the tepid wind entering through the sashless
windows whirled gently the dried leaves and the
dust of many days of neglect, Almayer in his white
jacket and flowered sarong, surrounded by a circle
of glittering uniforms, stamped his foot to show the
solidity of the neatly-fitting floors and expatiated
upon the beauties and convenience of the building.
They listened and assented, amazed by the wonder-
ful simplicity and the foolish hopefulness of the
man, till Almayer, carried away by his excitement,
disclosed his regret at the non-arrival of the Eng-
lish, "who knew how to develop a rich country,"

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 46

as he expressed it. There was a general laugh
amongst the Dutch officers at that unsophisticated
statement, and a move was made towards the boats ;
but when Almayer, stepping cautiously on the rot-
ten boards of the Lingard jetty, tried to approach
the chief of the Commission with some timid hints
anent the protection required by the Dutch subject
against the wily Arabs, that salt-water diplomat
told him significantly that the Arabs were better
subjects than Hollanders who dealt illegally in
gunpowder with the jNIalays. The innocent Al-
mayer recognised there at once the oily tongue of
Abdulla and the solemn persuasiveness of Lakamba,
but ere he had time to frame an indignant protest
the steam launch and the string of boats moved
rapidly down the river leaving him on the jetty,
standing open-mouthed in his surprise and anger.
There are thirty miles of river from Sambir to the
gem-like islands of the estuary where the frigate
was awaiting the return of the boats. The moon
rose long before the boats had traversed half that
distance, and the black forest sleeping peacefully
under her cold rays woke up that night to the
ringing laughter in the small flotilla provoked by
some reminiscence of Almayer 's lamentable narra-
tive. Salt-water jests at the poor man's expense
were passed from boat to boat, the non-appearance
of his daughter was commented upon with severe

4G ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

displeasure, and the half-finished house built for
the reception of Englishmen received on that joj^-
ous night the name of " Almayer's Folly " by the
unanimous vote of the lighthearted seamen.

For many weeks after this visit life in Sambir
resumed its even and uneventful flow. Each day's
sun shooting its morning rays above the tree-tops
lit up the usual scene of daily activity. Nina walk-
ing on the path that formed the only street in the
settlement saw the accustomed sight of men lolling
on the shady side of the houses, on the high plat-
forms; of women busily engaged in husking the
daily rice ; of naked brown children racing along
the shady and narrow paths leading to the clearings.
Jim-Eng, strolling before his house, greeted her
with a friendly nod before climbing up indoors to
seek his beloved opium pipe. The elder children
clustered round her, daring from long acquaintance,
pulling the skirts of her white robe with their dark
fingers, and showing their brilliant teeth in expec-
tation of a shower of glass beads. She greeted
them with a quiet smile, but always had a few
friendly Avords for a Siamese girl, a slave owned by
Bulangi, whose numerous wives were said to be of
a violent temper. Well-founded rumour said also
that the domestic squabbles of that industrious cul-
tivator ended generally in a combined assault of all
his wives upon the Siamese slave. The girl herself

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 47

never complained — perhaps from dictates of pru-
dence, but more likely through the strange, resigned
apathy of half -savage womankind. From early
morning she was to be seen on the paths amongst
the houses — by the riverside or on the jetties, the
tray of pastry, it was her mission to sell, skilfully
balanced on her head. During the great heat of the
day she usually sought refuge in Almayer's cam-
pong, often finding shelter in a shady corner of the
verandah, where she squatted with her tray before
her, when invited by Nina. For " Mem Putih " she
had always a smile, but the presence of Mrs. Al-
mayer, the very sound of her shrill voice, was the
signal for a hurried departure.

To this girl Nina often spoke ; the other inhab-
itants of Sambir seldom or never heard the sound
of her voice. They got used to the silent figure
moving in their midst, calm and white-robed, a
being from another world and incomprehensible to
them. Yet Nina's life for all her outward com-
posure, for all the seeming detachment from the
things and people surrounding her, was far from
quiet, in consequence of Mrs. Almayer being much
too active for the happiness and even safety of the
household. She had resumed some intercourse with
Lakamba, not personally, it is true (for the dignity
of that potentate kept him inside his stockade),
but through the agency of that potentate's prime

48 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

minister, liarbour master, financial adviser, and
general factotum. That gentleman — of Sulu ori-
gin— was certainly endowed with statesmanlike
qualities, although he was totally devoid of per-
sonal charms. In truth he was perfectly repulsive,
possessing only one eye and a pock-marked face,
with nose and lips horribly disfigured by the small-
pox. This unengaging individual often strolled
into Almayer's garden in unofficial costume, com-
posed of a piece of pink calico round his waist.
There at the back of the house, squatting on his
heels on scattered embers, in close proximity to the
great iron boiler, where the family daily rice was
being cooked by the women under Mrs. Almayer's
superintendence, did that astute negotiator carry on
long conversations in Sulu language with Almayer's
wife. What the subject of their discourses was
might have been guessed from the subsequent
domestic scenes by Almayer's hearthstone.

Of late Almayer had taken to excursions up the
river. In a small canoe with two paddlers and the
faithful Ali for a steersman he would disappear for
a few days at a time. All his movements were no
doubt closely watched by Lakamba and AbduUa, for
the man once in the confidence of Rajah-Laut was
supposed to be in possession of valuable secrets.
The coast population of Borneo believes implicitly
in diamonds of fabulous value, in gold mines of

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 49

enormous richness in the interior. And all those
imaginings are heightened by the difficulty of pene-
trating far inland, especially on the north-east coast,
where the Malays and the river tribes of Dyaks or
Head-hunters are eternally quarrelling. It is true
enough that some gold reaches the coast in the hands
of those Dyaks when, during short periods of truce
in the desultory warfare, they visit the coast settle-
ments of Malays. And so the wildest exaggerations
are built up and added to on the slight basis of that
fact.

Almayer in his quality of white man — as Lingard
before him — had somewhat better relations with the
up-river tribes. Yet even his excursions were not
without danger, and his returns were eagerly looked
for by the impatient Lakamba. But every time the
Rajah was disappointed. Vain were the conferences
by the rice-pot of his factotum Babalatchi with the
white man's wife. The white man himself was im-
penetrable— impenetrable to persuasion, coaxing,
abuse ; to soft words and shrill revilings ; to desper-
ate beseechings or murderous threats ; for Mrs.
Almayer, in her extreme desire to persuade her
husband into an alliance with Lakamba, played
upon the whole gamut of passion. With her soiled
robe wound tightly under the armpits across her
lean bosom, her scant greyish hair tumbled in dis-
order over her projecting cheek-bones, in suppliant

50 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

attitude, she depicted with shrill volubility the ad-
vantages of close union with a man so good and so
fair dealing.

" Why don't you go to the Rajah ? " she screamed.
" Why do you go back to those Dyaks in the great
forest? They should be killed. You cannot kill
them, you cannot ; but our Rajah's men are brave I
You tell the Rajah where the old white man's treas-
ure is. Our Rajah is good ! He is our very grand-
father, Datu Besar ! He will kill those wretched
Dyaks, and you shall have half the treasure. Oh,
Kaspar, tell where the treasure is ! Tell me I Tell
me out of the old man's surat where you read so
often at night."

On those occasions Almayer sat with rounded
shoulders bending to the blast of this domestic
tempest, accentuating only each pause in the tor-
rent of his wife's eloquence by an angry growl,
" There is no treasure ! Go away, woman ! " Exas-
perated by the sight of his patiently bent back, she
would at last walk round so as to face him across
the table, and clasping her robe with one hand she
stretched the other lean arm and claw-like hand
to emphasise, in a passion of anger and contempt,
the rapid rush of scathing remarks and bitter curs-
ings heaped on the head of the man unworthy to
associate with brave Malay chiefs. It ended gener-
ally by Almayer rising slowly, his long pipe in hand.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 51

his face set into a look of inward pain, and walk-
ing away in silence. He descended the steps and
plunged into the long grass on his way to the soli-
tude of his new house, dragging his feet in a state
of physical collapse from disgust and fear before
that fury. She followed to the head of the steps,
and sent the shafts of indiscriminate abuse after
the retreating form. And each of those scenes was
concluded by a piercing shriek, reaching him far
away. " You know, Kaspar, I am your wife ! your
own Christian wife after your own Blanda law!"
For she knew that this was the bitterest thing of
all ; the greatest regret of that man's life.

All these scenes Nina witnessed unmoved. She
might have been deaf, dumb, without any feeling as
far as any expression of opinion went. Yet oft when
her father had sought the refuge of the great dusty
rooms of " Almayer's Folly," and her mother, ex-
hausted by rhetorical efforts, squatted wearily on
her heels with her back against the leg of the table,
Nina would approach her curiously, guarding her
skirts from betel juice besprinkling the floor, and
gaze down upon her as one might look into the qui-
escent crater of a volcano after a destructive erup-
tion. Mrs. Almayer's thoughts, after these scenes,
were usually turned into a channel of childhood rem-
iniscences, and she gave them utterance in a kind
of monotonous recitative — slightly disconnected, but

52 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

generally describing the glories of the Sultan of Sulu,
his great splendour, his power, his great prowess ; the
fear which benumbed the hearts of white men at the
sight of his swift piratical praus. And these mut-
tered statements of her grandfather's might were
mixed up with bits of later recollections, where the
great fight with the "White Devil's" brig and
the convent life in Samarang occupied the princi-
pal place. At that point she usually dropped the
thread of her narrative, and pulling out the little
brass cross, always suspended round her neck, she
contemplated it with superstitious awe. That super-
stitious feeling connected with some vague talismanic
properties of the little bit of metal, and the still more
hazy but terrible notion of some bad Djinns and hor-
rible torments invented, as she thought, for her espe-
cial punishment by the good Mother Superior in case
of the loss of the above charm, were Mrs. Almayer's
only theological luggage for the stormy road of life.
Mrs. Almayer had at least something tangible to
cling to, but Nina, brought up under the Protestant
wing of the proper Mrs. Vinck, had not even a little
piece of brass to remind her of past teaching. And
listening to the recital of those savage glories, those
barbarous fights and savage feasting, to the stor}'^ of
deeds valorous, albeit somewhat bloodthirsty, where
men of her mother's race shone far above the Orang
Blanda, she felt herself irresistibly fascinated, and

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 63

saw with vague surprise the narrow mantle of civil-
ised morality, in which good-meaning people had
wrapped her young soul, fall away and leave her
shivering and helpless as if on the edge of some
deep and unknown abyss. Strangest of all, this
abyss did not frighten her when she was under
the influence of the witch-like being she called her
mother. She seemed to have forgotten in civilised
surroundings her life before the time when Lingard
had, so to speak, kidnapped her from Brow. Since
then she had had Christian teaching, social educa-
tion, and a good glimpse of civilised life. Unfortu-
nately her teachers did not understand her nature,
and the education ended in a scene of humiliation, in
an outburst of contempt from white people for her
mixed blood. She had tasted the whole bitterness
of it and remembered distinctly that the virtuous
Mrs. Vinck's indignation was not so much directed
against the young man from the bank as against the
innocent cause of that young man's infatuation. And
there was also no doubt in her mind that the princi-
pal cause of Mrs. Vinck's indignation was the thought
that such a thing should happen in a white nest,
where her snow-white doves, the two Misses Vinck,
had just returned from Europe, to find shelter under
the maternal wing, and there await the coming of
irreproachable men of their destiny. Not even the
thought of the money so painfully scraped together

54 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

by Almayer, and so punctually sent for Nina's ex-
penses, could dissuade Mrs. Vinck from her virtuous
resolve. Nina was sent away, and in truth the girl
herself wanted to go, although a little frightened by
the impending change. And now she had lived on
the river for three years with a savage mother and
a father walking about amongst pitfalls, with his
head in the clouds, weak, irresolute, and unhappy.
She had lived a life devoid of all the decencies of
civilisation, in miserable domestic conditions ; she
had breathed in the atmosphere of sordid plottings
for gain, of the no less disgusting intrigues and
crimes for lust or money; and those things, together
with the domestic quarrels, were the only events of
her three years' existence. She did not die from
despair and disgust the first month, as she expected
and almost hoped for. On the contrary, at the end
of half a year it had seemed to her that she had
known no other life. Her young mind having been
unskilfully permitted to glance at better things, and
then thrown back again into the hopeless quagmire
of barbarism, full of strong and uncontrolled pas-
sions, had lost the power to discriminate. It seemed
to Nina that there was no change and no difference.
Whether they traded in brick godowns or on the
muddy river bank ; whether they reached after much
or little ; whether they made love under the shadows
of the great trees or in the shadow of the cathedral

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 55

on the Singapore promenade ; whether they plotted
for their own ends under the protection of laws and
according to the rules of Christian conduct, or
whether they sought the gratification of their de-
sires with the savage cunning and the unrestrained
lierceness of natures as innocent of culture as their
own immense and gloomy forests, Nina saw only the
same manifestations of love and hate and of sordid
greed chasing the uncertain dollar in all its multifa-
rious and vanishing shapes. To her resolute nature,
however, after all these years, the savage and uncom-
promising sincerity of purpose shown by her Mala^*
kinsmen seemed at last preferable to the sleek hypoc-
risy, to the polite disguises, to the virtuous pretences
of such white people as she had had the misfortune
to come in contact with. After all it was her life ;
it was going to be her life, and so thinking she fell
more and more under the influence of her mother.
Seeking, in her ignorance, a better side to that life,
she listened with avidity to the old woman's tales
of the departed glories of the Rajahs, from whose
race she had sprung, and she became gradually more
indifferent, more contemptuous of the white side of
her descent represented by a feeble and traditionless
father.

Almayer's difficulties were by no means dimin-
ished by the girl's presence in Sambir. The stir
caused by her arrival had died out, it is true, and

56 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

Lakamba had not renewed his visits ; but about a
year after the departure of the man-of-war boats
the nephew of AbduUa, Syed Reshid, returned
from his pilgrimage to Mecca, rejoicing in a green
jacket and the proud title of Hadji. There was a
great letting off of rockets on board the steamer
which brought him in, and a great beating of drums
all night in Abdulla's compound, while the feast of
welcome was prolonged far into the small hours of
the morning. Reshid was the favourite nephew
and heir of Abdulla, and that loving uncle, meeting
Almayer one day by the riverside, stopped politely
to exchange civilities and to ask solemnly for an
interview. Almayer suspected some attempt at a
swindle, or at any rate something unpleasant, but
of course consented with a great show of rejoicing.
Accordingly, the next evening, after sunset, Abdulla
came, accompanied by several other greybeards and
by his nephew. That young man — of a very rakish
and dissipated appearance — affected the greatest
indifference as to the whole of the proceedings.
When the torch-bearers had grouped themselves
below the steps, and the visitors had seated them-
selves on various lame chairs, Reshid stood apart
in the shadow, examining his aristocratically small
hands with great attention. Almayer, surprised by
the great solemnity of his visitors, perched himself
on the corner of the table with a characteristic want

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 57

of dignity quickly noted by the Arabs with grave
disapproval. But AbduUa spoke now, looking
straight past Almayer at the red curtain hanging
in the doorway, where a slight tremor disclosed the
presence of women on the other side. He began
by neatly complimenting Almayer upon the long
years they had dwelt together in cordial neigh-
bourhood, and called upon Allah to give him
many more years to gladden the eyes of his
friends by his welcome presence. He made a
polite allusion to the great consideration shown
him (Almayer) by the Dutch " Commissie," and
drew thence the flattering inference of Almayer's
great importance amongst his own people. He —
AbduUa — was also important amongst all the
Arabs, and his nephew Reshid would be heir of
that social position and of great riches. Now
Reshid was a Hadji. He was possessor of several
Malay women, went on Abdulla, but it was time
he had a favourite wife, the first of the four
allowed by the Prophet. And, speaking with
well-bred politeness, he explained further to the
dumbfounded Almayer that, if he would consent
to the alliance of his offspring with that true
believer and virtuous man Reshid, she would be
the mistress of all the splendours of Reshid's
house, and first wife of the first Arab in the
Islands, when he — Abdulla — was called to the

58 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

joys of Paradise by Allah the All-merciful. "• You
know, Tuan," he said, in conclusion, " the other
women would be her slaves, and Reshid's house is
great. From Bombay he has brought great divans,
and costly carpets, and European furniture. There
is also a great looking-glass in a frame shining
like gold. What could a girl want more?" And
while Almayer looked upon him in silent dismay
AbduUa spoke in a more confidential tone, Avaving
his attendants away, and finished his speech by
pointing out the material advantages of such an
alliance, and offering to settle upon Almayer three
thousand dollars as a sign of his sincere friendship
and the price of the girl.

Poor Almayer was nearly having a fit. Burning
with the desire of taking Abdulla by the throat,
he had but to think of his helpless position in the
midst of lawless men to comprehend the necessity
of diplomatic conciliation. He mastered his im-
pulses, and spoke politely and coldly, saying the
girl was young and as the apple of his eye. Tuan
Reshid, a Faithful and a Hadji, would not want
an infidel woman in his harem ; and, seeing Abdulla
smile sceptically at that last objection, he remained
silent, not trusting himself to speak more, not dar-
ing to refuse point-blank, nor yet to say anything
compromising. Abdulla understood the meaning
of that silence, and rose to take leave with a

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 69

grave salaam. He wished his friend Almayer "a
thousand years," and moved down the steps, helped
dutifully by Reshid. The torch-bearers shook their
torches, scattering a shower of sparks into the river,
and the cortege moved off, leaving Almayer agitated
but greatly relieved by their departure. He dropped
into a chair and watched the glimmer of the lights
amongst the tree trunks till they disappeared and
complete silence succeeded the tramp of feet and
the murmur of voices. He did not move till the
curtain rustled and Nina came out on the verandah
and sat in the rocking-chair, where she used to
spend many hours every day. She gave a slight
rocking motion to her seat, leaning back with half-
closed eyes, her long hair shading her face from
the smoky light of the lamp on the table. Almayer
looked at her furtively, but the face was as impas-
sible as ever. She turned her head slightly towards
her father, and, speaking, to his great surprise, in
English, asked —

"Was that Abdulla here?"

" Yes," said Almayer — " just gone."

" And what did he want, father ? "

" He wanted to buy you for Reshid," answered Al-
mayer, brutally, his anger getting the better of him,
and looking at the girl as if in expectation of some
outbreak of feeling. But Nina remained apparently
unmoved, gazing dreamily into the black night outside.

60 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

" Be careful, Nina," said Almayer, after a short
silence and rising from his chair, "when you go
paddling alone into the creeks in your canoe. That
Reshid is a violent scoundrel, and there is no saying
what he may do. Do you hear me?"

She was standing now, ready to go in, one hand
grasping the curtain in the doorway. She turned
round, throwing her heavy tresses back by a sudden
gesture.

" Do you think he would dare ? " she asked,
quickly, and then turned again to go in, adding in
a lower tone, " He would not dare. Arabs are all
cowards."

Almayer looked after her, astonished. He did
not seek the repose of his hammock. He walked
the floor absently, sometimes stopping by the bal-
ustrade to think. The lamp went out. The first
streak of dawn broke over the forest ; Almayer
shivered in the damp air. " I give it up," he mut-
tered to himself, lying down wearily. " Damn those
women ! Well ! If the girl did not look as if she
wanted to be kidnapped! "

And he felt a nameless fear creep into his heart,
making him shiver again.

CHAPTER IV.

That year, towards the breaking up of the south-
west monsoon, disquieting rumours reached Sambir.
Captain Ford, coming up to Almayer's house for an
evening's chat, brought late numbers of the Straits
Times giving the news of Acheen war and of the un-
successful Dutch expedition. The Nakhodas of the
rare trading praus ascending the river paid visits to
Lakamba, discussing with that potentate the un-
settled state of affairs, and wagged their heads
gravely over the recital of Orang Blanda exaction,
severity, and general tyranny, as exemplified in the
total stoppage of gunpowder trade and the rigorous
visiting of all suspicious craft trading in the straits
of Macassar. Even the loyal soul of Lakamba was
stirred into a state of inward discontent by the with-
drawal of his license for powder and by the abrupt
confiscation of one hundred and fifty barrels of that
commodity by the gunboat Princess Amelia^ when,
after a hazardous voyage, it had almost reached the
mouth of the river. The unpleasant news was given
him by Reshid, who, after the unsuccessful issue of

61

62 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

his matrimonial projects, had made a long voyage
amongst the islands for trading purposes; had bought
the powder for his friend, and was overhauled and
deprived of it on his return when actually congratu-
lating himself on his acuteness in avoiding detec-
tion. Reshid's wrath was principally directed against
Almayer, whom he suspected of having notified the
Dutch authorities of the desultory warfare carried
on by the Arabs and the Rajah with the up-river
Dyak tribes.

To Reshid's great surprise the Rajah received his
complaints very coldly, and showed no signs of
vengeful disposition towards the white man. In
truth, Lakamba knew very well that Almayer was
perfectly innocent of any meddling in state affairs ;
and besides, his attitude towards that much perse-
cuted individual was wholly changed in consequence
of a reconciliation effected between him and his
old enemy by Almayer's newly-found friend, Dain
Maroola.

Almayer had now a friend. Shortly after Reshid's
departure on his commercial journey, Nina, drifting
slowly with the tide in the canoe on her return
home after one of her solitary excursions, heard in
one of the small creeks a splashing, as if of heavy
ropes dropping in the water, and the prolonged song
of Malay seamen when some heavy pulling is to be
done. Through the thick fringe of bushes hiding

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 63

the mouth of the creek she saw the tall spars of some
European-rigged sailing vessel overtopping the sum-
mits of the Nipa palms. A brig was being hauled
out of the small creek into the main stream. The
sun had set, and during the short moments of twi-
light Nina saw the brig, aided by the evening breeze
and the flowing tide, head towards Sambir under her
set foresail. The girl turned her canoe out of the
main river into one of the many narrow channels
amongst the wooded islets, and paddled vigorously
over the black and sleepy backwaters towards Sam-
bir. Her canoe brushed the water-palms, skirted
the short spaces of muddy bank where sedate alli-
gators looked at her with lazy unconcern, and, just
as darkness was setting in, shot out into the broad
junction of the two main branches of the river,
where the brig was already at anchor with sails
furled, yards squared, and decks seemingly un-
tenanted by any human being. Nina had to cross
the river and pass pretty close to the brig in order
to reach home on the low promontory between the
two branches of the Pantai. Up both branches, in
the houses built on the banks and over the water,
the lights twinkled already, reflected in the still
waters below. The hum of voices, the occasional
cry of a child, the rapid and abruptly interrupted
roll of a wooden drum, together with some distant
hailing in the darkness by the returning fishermen,

64 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

reached her over the broad expanse of the river.
She hesitated a little before crossing, the sight of
such an unusual object as an European-rigged vessel
causing her some uneasiness, but the river in its wide
expansion was dark enough to render a small canoe
invisible. She urged her small craft with swift
strokes of her paddle, kneeling in the bottom and
bending forward to catch any suspicious sound while
she steered towards the little jetty of Lingard and
Co., to which the strong light of the paraffin lamp
shining on the whitewashed verandah of Almayer's
bungalow served as a convenient guide. The jetty
itself, under the shadow of the bank overgrown by
drooping bushes, was hidden in darkness. Before
even she could see it she heard the hollow bumping
of a large boat against its rotten posts, and heard also
the murmur of whispered conversation in that boat
whose white paint and great dimensions, faintly
visible on nearer approach, made her rightly guess
that it belonged to the brig just anchored. She
landed at the muddy head of the creek and made
her way towards the house over the trodden grass
of the courtyard. To the left, from the cooking
shed, shone a red glare through the banana plan-
tation she skirted, and the noise of feminine laughter
reached her from there in the silent evening. She
rightly judged her mother was not near, laughter
and Mrs. Almayer not being close neighbours. She

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 65

must be in the house, thought Nina, as she ran
lightly up the inclined plane of shaky planks lead-
ing to the back door of the narrow passage dividing
the house in two. Outside the doorway, in the
black shadow, stood the faithful Ali.

" Who is there ? " asked Nina.

" A great Malay man has come," answered Ali,
in a tone of suppressed excitement. " He is a rich
man. There are six men with lances. Real Soldat,
you understand. And his dress is very brave. I
have seen his dress. It shines ! What jewels !
Don't go there, Mem Nina. Tuan said not; but
the old Mem is gone. Tuan will be angry. Merci-
ful Allah ! what jewels that man has got ! "

Nina slipped past the outstretched hand of the
slave into the dark passage where, in the crimson
glow of the hanging curtain, close by its other
end, she could see a small dark form crouching
near the wall. Her mother was feasting her eyes
and ears with what was taking place on the
front verandah, and Nina approached to take
her share in the rare pleasure of some novelty.
She was met by her mother's extended arm
and by a low murmured warning not to make
noise.

" Have you seen them, mother ? " asked Nina, in
a breathless whisper.

Mrs. Almayer turned her face towards the girl.

66 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

and her sunken eyes shone strangely in the red
half-light of the passage.

" I saw him," she said, in an almost audible tone,
pressing her daughter's hand with her bony fingers.
"A great Rajah has come to Sambir — a Son of
Heaven," muttered the old woman to herself. " Go
away, girl ! "

The two women stood close to the curtain, Nina
wishing to approach the rent in the stuff, and her
mother defending the position with angry obstinacy.
On the other side there was a lull in the conversa-
tion, but the breathing of several men, the occasional
light tinkling of some ornaments, the clink of metal
scabbards, or of brass siri-vessels passed from hand
to hand, was audible during the short pause. Tlie
women struggled silently, when there was a shuffling
noise and the shadow of Almayer's burly form fell
on the curtain.

The women ceased struggling and remained
motionless. Almayer had stood up to answer his
guest, turning his back to the doorway, unaware of
what was going on on the other side. He spoke
in a tone of regretful irritation.

" You have come to the wrong house, Tuan
Maroola, if you want to trade as you say. I was
a trader once, not now, whatever you may have
heard about me in Macassar. And if you want
anything, you will not find it here ; I have nothing

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 67

to give, and want notliing myself. You should go
to the Rajah here ; you can see in the daytime his
houses across the river, there where those fires are
burning on the shore. He will help you and trade
with you. Or, better still, go to the Arabs over
there," he went on bitterly, pointing with his hand
towards the houses of Sambir. " Abdulla is the
man you want. There is nothing he would not
buy, and there is nothing he would not sell ; believe
me, I know him well."

He waited for an answer a short time, then
added —

" All that I have said is true, and there is noth-
ing more."

Nina, held back by her mother, heard a soft voice
reply with a calm evenness of intonation peculiar
to the better class Malays —

'' Who would doubt a white Tuan's words ? A
man seeks his friends where his heart tells him. Is
this not true also? I have come, although so late,
for I have something to say which you may be glad
to hear. To-morrow I will go to the Sultan ; a
trader wants the friendship of great men. Then
I shall return here to speak serious words, if
Tuan permits. I shall not go to the Arabs ; their
lies are very great! What are they? Chelakkal"

Almayer's voice sounded a little more pleasantly
in reply.

tJ8 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

" Well, as you like. I can hear you to-morrow
at any time if you have anything to say. Bah !
After you have seen the Sultan Lakamba you will
not want to return here, Inchi Dain. You will
see. Only mind, I will have nothing to do with
Lakamba. You may tell him so. What is your
business with me, after all ? "

"To-morrow we talk, Tuan, now I know you,"
answered the Malay. "I speak English a little,
so we can talk and nobody will understand, and
then "

He interrupted himself suddenly, asking, sur-
prised, "What's that noise, Tuan?"

Almayer had also heard the increasing noise of
the scuffle recommenced on the women's side of
the curtain. Evidently Nina's strong curiosity
was on the point of overcoming Mrs. Almayer's
exalted sense of social proprieties. Hard breathing
was distinctly audible, and the curtain shook dur-
ing the contest, which was mainly physical, although
Mrs. Almayer's voice was heard in angry remon-
strance with its usual want of strictly logical
reasoning, but with the well-known richness of
invective.

" You shameless woman ! Are you a slave ? "
shouted shrilly the irate matron. " Veil your face,
abandoned wretch ! You white snake, I will not
let you ! "

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 60

Almayer's face expressed annoyance and also
doubt as to tlie advisability of interfering between
mother and daughter. He glanced at his Malay
visitor, who was waiting silently for the end of
the uproar in an attitude of amused expectation,
and waving his hand contemptuously he mur-
mured —

"It is nothing. Some women."

The Malay nodded his head gravely, and his
face assumed an expression of serene indifference,
as etiquette demanded after such an explanation.
The contest was ended behind the curtain, and
evidently the younger will had its way, for the
rapid shuffle and click of Mrs. Almayer's high-
heeled sandals died away in the distance. The
tranquillised master of the house was going to
resume the conversation when, struck by the sud-
den change in the expression of his guest's coun-
tenance, he turned his head and saw Nina standing
in the doorway.

After Mrs. Almayer's retreat from the field of
battle, Nina, with a contemptuous exclamation,
" It's only a trader," had lifted the conquered
curtain and now stood in full light, framed in the
dark background on the passage, h3r lips slightly
parted, her hair in disorder after the exertion, the
angry gleam not yet faded out of her glorious and
sparkling eyes. She took in at a glance the group

70 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

of white-clad lancemen standing motionless in the
shadow of the far-off end of the verandah, and
her gaze rested curiously on the chief of that
imposing cortege. He stood, almost facing her,
a little on one side, and struck by the beauty of
the unexpected apparition had bent low, elevating
his joint hands above his head in a sign of respect
accorded by Malays only to the great of this earth.
The crude light of the lamp shone on the gold
embroidery of his black silk jacket, broke in a
thousand sparkling rays on the jewelled hilt of
his kriss protruding from under the many folds
of the red sarong gathered into a sash round his
waist, and played on the precious stones of the
many rings on his dark fingers. He straightened
himself up quickly after the low bow, putting liis
hand with a graceful ease on the hilt of his heavy
short sword ornamented with brilliantly dyed fringes
of horsehair. Nina, hesitating on the threshold,
saw an erect lithe figure of medium height with
a breadth of shoulder suggesting great power.
Under the folds of a blue turban, whose fringed
ends hung gracefully over the left shoulder, was
a face full of determination and expressing a reck-
less good-humour, not devoid, however, of some
dignity. The squareness of lower jaw, the full
red lips, the mobile nostrils, and the proud carriage
of the head gave the impression of a being half-

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 71

savage, untamed, perhaps cruel, and corrected the
liquid softness of the almost feminine eye, that
general characteristic of the race. Now, the first
surprise over, Nina saw those eyes fixed upon her
with such an uncontrolled expression of admiration
and desire that she felt a hitherto unknown feeling
of shjruess, mixed with alarm and some delight,
enter and penetrate her whole being. Confused
by those unusual sensations she stopped in the door-
way and instinctively di-ew the lower part of the
curtain across her face, leaving only half a rounded
cheek, a stray tress, and one eye exposed, where-
with to contemplate the gorgeous and bold being
so unlike in appearance to the rare specimens of
traders she had seen before on that same verandah.

Dain Maroola, dazzled by the unexpected vision,
forgot the confused Almayer, forgot his brig, his
escort staring in open-mouthed admiration, the
object of his visit and all things else, in his over-
powering desire to prolong the contemplation of so
much loveliness met so suddenly in such an unlikely
place — as he thought.

'■'' It is my daughter," said Almayer, in an embar-
rassed manner. " It is of no consequence. White
women have their customs, as you know, Tuan hav-
ing travelled much, as you say. However, it is late;
we will finish our talk to-morrow."

Dain bent low trying to convey in a last glance

72 ALMAYKK'S FOLLY.

towards the girl the bold expression of his over-
whelming admiration. The next minute he was
shaking Almayer's hand with grave courtesy, his
face wearing a look of stolid unconcern as to any
feminine presence. His men filed off, and he fol-
lowed them quickly, closely attended by a thick-set,
savage-looking Sumatrese he had introduced before
as the commander of his brig. Nina walked to the
balustrade of the verandah and saw the sheen of
moonlight on the steel spear-heads and heard the
rhythmic jingle of brass anklets as the men moved
in single file towards the jetty. The boat shoved
off after a little while, looming large in the full light
of the moon, a black shapeless mass in the slight
haze hanging over the water. Nina fancied she
could distinguish the graceful figure of the trader
standing erect in the stern sheets, but in a little
while all the outlines got blurred, confused, and
soon disappeared in the folds of white vapour
shrouding the middle of the river.

Almayer had approached his daughter, and leaning
with both arms over the rail, was looking moodily
down on the heap of rubbish and broken bottles at
the foot of the verandah.

" What was all that noise just now ? " he growled
peevishly, without looking up. " Confound you and
your mother ! What did she want ? What did you
come out for ? "

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 73

" She did not want to let me come out," said Nina.
" She is angry. She says the man ju t gone is some
Rajah. I think she is right now."

" I believe all you women are crazy," snarled
Almayer. " What's that to you, to her, to anybody ?
The man wants to collect trepang and birds' nests
on the islands. He told me so, that Rajah of yours.
He will come to-morrow. I want you both to keep
away from the house, and let me attend to my busi-
ness in peace."

Dain Maroola came the next day and had a long
conversation with Almayer. This was the begin-
ning of a close and friendly intercourse which, at
first, was much remarked in Sambir, till the popula-
tion got used to the frequent sight of many fires
burning in Almayer's campong, where Maroola's
men were warming themselves during the cold
nights of the north-east monsoon, while their master
had long conferences with the Tuan Putih — as they
styled Almayer amongst themselves. Great was the
curiosity in Sambir on the subject of the new trader.
Had he seen the Sultan ? What did the Sultan say ?
Has he given any presents ? What would he sell ?
What would he buy? Those were the questions
broached eagerly by the inhabitants of bamboo
houses built over the river. Even in more substan-
tial buildings, in Abdulla's house, in the residences
of principal traders, Arab, Cliinese, and Bugis, the

74 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

excitement ran high, and lasted many days. With
inborn suspicion they would not believe the simple
account of himself the young trader was always
ready to give. Yet it had all the appearance of
truth. He said he was a trader, and sold rice. He
did not want to buy gutta-percha or beeswax, be-
cause he intended to employ his numerous crew in
collecting trepang on the coral reefs outside the
river, and also in seeking for birds'-nests on the
mainland. Those two articles he professed himself
ready to buy if there were any to be obtained in that
way. He said he was from Bali, and a Brahmin,
which last statement he made good by refusing all
food during his often repeated visits to Lakamba's
and Almayer's houses. To Lakamba he went gen-
erally at night and had long audiences. Babalatchi,
who was always a third party at those meetings of
potentate and trader, knew how to resist all attempts
on the part of the curious to ascertain the subject
of so many long talks. When questioned with lan-
guid courtesy by the grave AbduUa he sought refuge
in a vacant stare of his one eye, and in the affecta-
tion of extreme simplicity.

"• I am only my master's slave," murmured
Babalatchi, in a hesitating manner. Then as if
making up his mind suddenly for a reckless con-
fidence he Avould inform Abdulla of some transac-
tion in rice, repeating the words, " A hundred big

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 75

bags the Sultan bought ; a hundred, Tuan I " in a
tone of mysterious solemnity. Abdulla, firmly per-
suaded of the existence of some more important
dealings, received, however, the information with
all the signs of respectful astonishment. And the
two would separate, the Arab cursing inwardly the
wily dog, while Babalatchi went on his way walk-
ing on the dusty path, his body swaying, his chin
with its few grey hairs pushed forward, resembling
an inquisitive goat bent on some unlawful expe-
dition. Attentive eyes watched his movements.
Jim-Eng, descrying Babalatchi far away, would
shake off the stupor of an habitual opium smoker
and, tottering on to the middle of the road, would
await the approach of that important person, ready
with hospitable invitation. But Babalatchi's discre-
tion was proof even against the combined assaults of
good fellowship and of strong gin generously admin-
istered by the open-hearted Chinaman. Jim-Eng,
owning himself beaten, was left uninformed with
the empty bottle, and gazed sadly after the depart-
ing form of the statesman of Sambir pursuing his
devious and unsteady way, which, as usual, led
him to Almayer's compound. Ever since a recon-
ciliation had been effected by Dain Maroola between
his white friend and the Rajah, the one-eyed dip-
lomatist had again become a frequent guest in the
Dutchman's house. To Almayer's great disgust he

76 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

was to be seen there at all times, strolling about in
an abstracted kind of way on the verandah, skulking
in the passages, or else popping round unexpected
corners, always willing to engage Mrs. Almayer in
confidential conversation. He was very shy of the
master himself, as if suspicious that the pent-up
feelings of the white man towards his person might
find vent in a sudden kick. But the cooking shed
was his favourite place, and he became an habitual
guest there, squatting for hours amongst the busy
women, with his chin resting on his knees, his lean
arms clasped round his legs, and his one eye roving
uneasily — the very picture of watchful ugliness.
Almayer wanted more than once to complain to
Lakamba of his Prime Minister's intrusion, but
Dain dissuaded him. " We cannot say a word here
that he does not hear," growled Almayer.

" Then come and talk on board the brig," retorted
Dain, with a quiet smile. " It is good to let the
man come here. Lakamba thinks he knows much.
Perhaps the Sultan thinks I want to run away.
Better let the one-eyed crocodile sun himself in
your campong, Tuan."

And Almayer assented unwillingly, muttering
vague threats of personal violence, while he eyed
malevolently the aged statesman sitting with quiet
obstinacy by his domestic rice-pot.

CHAPTER V.

At last the excitement had died out in Sambir.
The inhabitants got used to the sight of comings
and goings between Almayer's house and the
vessel, now moored to the opposite bank, and
speculation as to the feverish activity displayed by
Almayer's boatmen in repairing old canoes ceased
to interfere with the due discharge of domestic
duties by the women of the Settlement. Even the
baffled Jim-Eng left off troubling his muddled brain
with secrets of trade, and relapsed by the aid of
his opium pipe into a state of stupefied bliss, letting
Babalatchi pursue his way past his house uninvited
and seemingly unnoticed.

So on that warm afternoon, when the deserted
river sparkled under the vertical sun, the statesman
of Sambir could, without any hindrance from
friendly inquirers, shove off his little canoe frf)ia
under the bushes, where it was usually hidden
during his visits to Almayer's compound. Slowly
and languidly Babalatchi paddled, crouching low in
the boat, making himself small under his enormous

27

78 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

sun hat to escape the scorching heat reflected from
the water. He was not in a hurry ; his master,
Lakamba, was surely reposing at this time of the
day. He would have ample time to cross over and
greet him on his waking with important news. Will
he be displeased? Will he strike his ebony wood
staff angrily on the floor, frightening him by the
incoherent violence of his exclamations ; or will he
squat down v/ith a good-humoured smile, and, rub-
bing his hands gently over his stomach with a
familiar gesture, expectorate copiously into the brass
siri-vessel, giving vent to a low, approbative mur-
mur? Such were Babalatchi's thoughts as he skil-
fully handled his paddle, crossing the river on his
way to the Rajah's campong, whose stockades showed
from behind the dense foliage of the bank just oppo-
site to Almayer's bungalow.

Indeed, he had a report to make. Something cer-
tain at last to confirm the daily tale of suspicions,
the daily hints of familiarity, of stolen glances
he had seen, of short and burning words he had
overheard exchanged between Dain Maroola and
Almayer's daughter. Lakamba had, till then, lis-
tened to it all, calmly and with evident distrust ;
now he was going to be convinced, for Babalatchi
had the proof; had it this very morning, when
fishing at break of day in the creek over which
stood Bulangi's house. There from his skiff he

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 79

saw Nina's long canoe drift past, the girl sitting in
the stern bending over Dain, who was stretched
in the bottom with his head resting on the girl's
knees. He saAv it. He followed them, but in a
short time they took to the paddles and got away
from under his observant eye. A few minutes after-
wards he saw Bulangi's slave-girl paddling in a small
dug-out to the town witli her cakes for sale. She
also had seen them in the grey dawn. And Baba-
latchi grinned confidentially to himself at the recol-
lection of the slave-girl's discomposed face, of the
hard look in her eyes, of the tremble in her voice,
when answering his questions. That little Taminah
evidently admired Dain Maroola. That was good !
And Babalatchi laughed aloud at the notion ; then
becoming suddenly serious, he began by some strange
association of ideas to speculate upon the price for
which Bulangi would, possibly, sell the girl. He
shook his head sadly at the i bought that Bulangi
was a hard man, and had refused one hundred dollars
for that same Taminah only a few weeks ago ; then
he became suddenly aware that the canoe had drifted
too far down during his meditation. He shook off
the despondency caused by the certitude of Bulangi's
mercenary disposition, and, taking up his paddle, in
a few strokes sheered alongside the water-gate of
the Rajah's house.

That afternoon .Vlmayer, as was his wont lately,

80 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

moved about on the water-side, overlooking the re-
pairs to his boats. He had decided at last. Guided
by the scraps of information contained in old Lin-
gard's pocket-book, he was going to seek for the rich
gold-mine, for that place where he had only to stoop
to gather up an immense fortune and realise the
dream of his young days. To obtain the necessary
help he had shared his knowledge with Dain Maroola,
he had consented to be reconciled with Lakamba,
who gave his support to the enterprise on condition
of sharing the profits; he had sacrified his pride,
his honour, and his loyalty in the face of the
enormous risk of his undertaking, dazzled by the
greatness of the results to be achieved by this
alliance so distasteful yet so necessary. The dan-
gers were great, but Maroola was brave; his men
seemed as reckless as their chief, and with Lakamba's
aid success seemed assured.

For the last fortnight Alraayer was absorbed in
the preparations, walking amongst his workmen and
slaves in a kind of waking trance, where practical
details as to the fitting out of the boats were mixed
up with vivid dreams of untold wealth, where the
present misery of burning sun, of the muddy and
malodorous river bank disappeared in a gorgeous
vision of a splendid future existence for Uimself
and Nina. He hardly saw Nina during these last
days, although the beloved daughter was ever pres-

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 81

ent in his thoughts. He hardly took notice of
Da in, whose constant presence in his house had
become a matter of course to him, now they were
connected by a community of interests. When
meeting the young chief he gave him an absent
greeting and passed on, seemingly wishing to avoid
him, bent upon forgetting the hated reality of the
present by absorbing himself in his work, or else
by letting his imagination soar far above the tree-
tops into the great white clouds away to the west-
ward, where the paradise of Europe was awaiting
the future Eastern millionaire. And Maroola, now
the bargain was struck and there was no more
business to be talked over, evidently did not care
for the white man's company. Yet Dain was al-
ways about the house, but he seldom stayed long
by the riverside. On his daily visits to the white
man the Malay chief preferred to make his way
quietly through the central passage of the house,
and would come out into the garden at the back,
where the fire was burning in the cooking shed,
with the rice kettle swinging over it, under the
watchful supervision of Mrs. Almayer. Avoiding
that shed, with its black smoke and the warbling
of soft, feminine voices, Dain would turn to the
left. There, on the edge of a banana plantation,
a clump of palms and mango trees formed a shady
spot, a few scattered bushes giving it a certain

82 ALMAYER'S f^OLLY.

seclusion into which only the serving women's chat-
ter or an occasional burst of laughter could pene-
trate. Once in, he was invisible; and hidden there,
leaning against the smooth trunk of a tall palm, he
waited with gleaming eyes and an assured smile
to hear the faint rustle of dried grass under the
light footsteps of Nina.

From the very first moment when his eyes beheld
this — to him — perfection of loveliness he felt in
his inmost heart the conviction that she would be
his ; he felt the subtle breath of mutual understand-
ing passing between their two savage natures, and
he did not want Mrs. Almayer's encouraging smiles
to take every opportunity of approaching the girl ;
and every time he spoke to her, every time he looked
into her eyes, Nina, although averting her face, felt
as if this bold-looking being who spoke burning
words into her willing ear was the embodiment of her
fate, the creature of her dreams — reckless, ferocious,
ready with flashing kriss for his enemies, and with
passionate embrace for his beloved — the ideal Malay
chief of her mother's tradition.

She recognised with a thrill of delicious fear the
mysterious consciousness of her identity with that
being. Listening to his words, it seemed to her
she was born only then to a knowledge of a new
existence, that her life was complete only when near
him, and she abandoned herself to a feeling of

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 83

dreamy happiness, while with half-veiled face and
in silence — as became a Malay girl — she listened
to Dain's words giving up to her the whole treasure
of love and passion his nature was capable of with all
the unrestrained enthusiasm of a man totally untram-
melled by any influence of civilised self-discipline.

And they used to pass many a delicious and fast
fleeting hour under the mango trees behind the
friendly curtain of bushes till Mrs. Almayer's shrill
voice gave the signal of unwilling separation. Mrs.
Almayer had undertaken the easy task of watching
her husband lest he should interrupt the smooth
course of her daughter's love affair, in which she
took a great and benignant interest. She was
happy and proud to see Dain's infatuation, believ-
ing him to be a great and powerful chief, and she
found also a gratification of her mercenary instincts
in Dain's open-handed generosity.

On the eve of the day when Babalatchi's suspicions
were confirmed by ocular demonstration Dain and
Nina had remained longer than usual in their shady
retreat. Only Almayer's heavy step on the veran-
dah and his querulous clamour for food decided Mrs.
Almayer to lift a warning cry. Maroola leaped
lightly over the low bamboo fence, and made his
way stealthily through the banana plantation down
to the muddy shore of the back creek, while Nina
walked slowly towards the house to minister to her

84 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

father's wants, as was her wont every evening.
Almayer felt happy enough that evening ; the
preparations were nearly completed; to-morrow he
would launch his boats. In his mind's eye he saw
the rich prize in his grasp ; and, with tin spoon in
his hand, he was forgetting the plateful of rice
before him in the fanciful arrangement of some
splendid banquet to take place on his arrival in
Amsterdam. Nina, reclining in the long chair,
listened absently to the few disconnected words
escaping from her father's lips. Expedition ! Gold I
What did she care for all that? But at the name
of Maroola mentioned by her father she was all
attention. Dain was going down the river witli
his brig to-morroAv to remain away for a few days,
said Almayer. It was very annoying, this delay.
As soon as Dain returned they would have to start
without loss of time, for the river was rising. He
would not be surprised if a great flood was coming.
And he pushed away his plate with an impatient
gesture on rising from the table. But now Nina
heard him not. Dain going away ! That's why he
had ordered her, with that quiet masterfulness it
was her delight to obey, to meet him at break of
day in Bulangi's creek. Was there a paddle in hei-
canoe? she thought. Was it ready? She would
have to start early — ^at four in the morning, in a
very few hours.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 85

She rose from her chair, thinking she would re-
quire rest before the long pull in the early morning.
The lamp was burning dimly, and her father, tired
with the day's labour, was already in his hammock.
Nina put the lamp out and passed into a large
room she shared with her mother on the left of
the central passage. Entering, she saw that Mrs.
Almayer had deserted the pile of mats serving her
as bed in one corner of the room, and was now
bending over the opened lid of her large wooden
chest. Half a shell of cocoanut filled with oil.
where a cotton rag floated for a wick, stood on the
floor, surrounding her with a ruddy halo of light
shining through the black and odorous smoke.
Mrs. Almayer's back was bent, and her head and
shoulders hidden in the deep box. Her hands
rummaged in the interior, where a soft clink as of
silver money could be heard. She did not notice
at first her daughter's approach, and Nina, standing
silently by her, looked down on many little canvas
bags ranged in the bottom of the chest, wherefrora
her mother extracted handfuls of shining guilders
and Mexican dollars, letting them stream slowly
back again through her claw-like fingers. The
music of tinkling silver seemed to delight her, and
her eyes sparkled with the reflected gleam of freshly-
minted coins. She was mutterincr to herself : " And
this, and this, and yet this I Soon he will give

86 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

more — as much more as I ask. lie is a great
Rajah — a Son of Heaven ! And she will be a
Ranee — he gave all this for her ! Who ever gave
anything for me ? I am a slave ! Am I ? I am
the mother of a great Ranee ! " She became aware
suddenly of her daughter's presence, and ceased her
droning, shutting the lid down violently ; then,
without rising from her crouching position, she
looked up at the girl standing by with a vague
smile on her dreamy face.

" You have seen. Have you ? " she shouted, shrill}-.
" That is all mine, and for you. It is not enough !
He will have to give more before he takes you away
to the southern island where his father is king. You
hear me ? You are worth more, granddaughter of
Rajahs ! More ! More ! "

The sleepy voice of Almayer was heard on the
verandah recommending silence. Mrs. Almayer ex-
tinguished the light and crept into her corner of
the room. Nina lay down on her back on a pile of
soft mats, her hands entwined under her head, gazing
through the shutterless hole serving as a window at
the stars twinkling on the black sky; she was await-
ing the time of start for her appointed meeting-place.
With quiet happiness she thought of that meeting in
the great forest, far from all human eyes and sounds.
Her soul, lapsing again into the savage mood, which
the genius of civilisation working by the hand of

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 87

Mrs. Vinck could never destroy, experienced a feel-
ing of pride and of some slight trouble at the high
value her worldly-wise mother had put upon her
person ; but she remembered the expressive glances
and words of Dain, and, tranquillised, she closed her
eyes in a sliiver of pleasant anticipation.

There are some situations where the barbarian
and the so-called civilised man meet upon the same
ground. It may be supposed that Dain Maroola
Avas not exceptionally delighted with his prospective
mother-in-law, nor that he actually approved of that
worthy woman's appetite for shining dollars. Yet
cm that foggy morning when Babalatchi, laying aside
the cares of state, went to visit his fish-baskets in
the Bulangi creek, Maroola had no misgivings, expe-
rienced no feelings but those of impatience and long-
ing, when paddling to the east side of the island
forming the backwater in question. He liid his
canoe in the bushes and strode rapidly across the
islet, pushing with impatience through the twigs
of heavy undergrowth intercrossed over his path.
From motives of prudence he would not take his
canoe to the meeting-place, as Nina had done. He
had left it in the main stream till his return from
the other side of the island. The heavy warm fog
was closing rapidly round him, but he managed to
catch a fleeting glimpse of a light away to the left,
proceeding from Bulangi's house. Then he could

gg ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

see nothing in the thickening vapour, and kept t^
the path only by a sort of instinct, which also led
him to the very point on the opposite shore he wished
to reach. A great log had stranded there, at right
angles to the bank, forming a kind of jetty against
which the swiftly flowing stream broke with a loud
ripple. He stepped on it with a quick but steady
motion, and in two strides found himself at the
outer end, with the rush and swirl of the foaming
water at his feet.

Standing there alone, as if separated from the
world; the heavens, earth; the very water roaring
under him swallowed up in the thick veil of the
morning fog, he breathed out the name of Nina be-
fore him into the apparently limitless space, sure
of being heard, instinctively sure of the nearness
of the delightful creature ; certain of her being
aware of his near presence as he was aware of hers.

The bow of Nina's canoe loomed up close to the
log, canted high out of the water by the weight of
the sitter in the stern. Maroola laid his hand on
the stem and leaped lightly in, giving it a vigorous
shove off. The light craft, obeying the new impulse,
cleared the log by a hair's breadth, and the river,
with obedient complicity, swung it broadside to the
current, and bore it off silently and rapidly between
the invisible banks. And once more Dain, at the
feet of Nina, forgot the world, felt himself carried

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 89

away helpless by a great wave of supreme emotion,
by a rush of joy, pride, and desire ; understood once
more with overpowering certitude that there was no
life possible without that being he held clasped in his
arms with passionate strength in a prolonged embrace.

Nina disengaged herself gently with a low laugh.

" You will overturn the boat, Dain," she
whispered.

He looked into her eyes eagerly for a minute and
let her go with a sigh, then lying down in the canoe
he put his head on her knees, gazing upwards and
stretching his arms backwards till his hands met
around the girl's waist. She bent over him, and,
shaking her head, framed both their faces in the
falling locks of her long black hair.

And so they drifted on, he speaking with all the
rude eloquence of a savage nature giving itself up
without restraint to an overmastering passion, she
bending low to catch the murmur of words sweeter to
her than life itself. To those two nothing existed then
outside the gunwales of the narrow and fragile craft.
It was their world, filled with their intense and all-
absorbing love. They took no heed of thickening
mist, or of the breeze dying away before sun-
rise ; they forgot the existence of the great forests
surrounding them, of all the tropical nature awaiting
the advent of the sun in a solemn and impressive
silence.

90 ALMAVER'S FOLLY.

Over the low river-inist hiding the boat with its
freight of young passionate life and all-forgetful
liappiness, the stars paled, and a silvery-grey tint
crept over the sky from the eastward. There was
not a breath of wind, not a rustle of stirring leaf,
not a splash of leaping fish to disturb the serene
repose of all living things on the banks of the great
river. Earth, river, and sky were wrapped up in a
deep sleep, from which it seemed there would be no
waking. All the seething life and movement of
tropical nature seemed concentrated in the ardent
eyes, in the tumultuously beating hearts of the tAvo
beings drifting in the canoe, under the white canopy
of mist, over the smooth surface of the river.

Suddenly a great sheaf of yellow rays shot up-
wards from behind the black curtain of trees lining
the banks of the Pantai. The stars went out ; tlie
little black clouds at the zenith glowed for a
moment with crimson tints, and the thick mist,
stirred by the gentle breeze, the sigh of waking-
nature, whirled round and broke into fantasticall}-
torn pieces, disclosing the wrinkled surface of the
river sparkling in the broad light of day. Great
flocks of white birds wheeled screaming above the
swaying tree-tops. The sun had risen on the east
coast.

Dain was the first to return to the cares of every-
day life. He rose and glanced rapidly up and down

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 9l

the river. His eye detected Babalatchi's boat astern,
and another small black speck on the glittering
water, which was Taminah's canoe. He moved
cautiously forward, and, kneeling, took up a paddle ;
Nina at the stern took hers. They bent their bodies
to the work, throwing up the water at every stroke,
and the small craft went swiftly ahead, leaving a
narrow wake fringed with a lace-like border of
white and gleaming foam. Without turning his
head, Dain spoke.

" Somebody behind us, Nina. We must not let
him gain. I think he is too far to recognise us."

" Somebody before us also," panted out Nina,
without ceasing to paddle.

" I think I know," rejoined Dain. " The sun
shines over there, but I fancy it is the girl Tami-
nah. She comes down every morning to my brig
to sell cakes — stays often all day. It does not
matter ; steer more into the bank ; we must get
under the bushes. My canoe is hidden not far
from here."

As he spoke, his eyes watched the broad-leaved
nipas which they were brushing in their swift and
silent course.

" Look out, Nina," he said at last ; " there, where
the water palms end and the twigs hang down
under the leaning tree. Steer for the big green
branch."

92 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

He stood up attentive, and the boat drifted slowly
in shore, Nina guiding it by a gentle and skilful
movement of her paddle. When near enough Dain
laid hold of the big branch, and leaning back shot
the canoe under a low green archway of thickly
matted creepers, giving access to a miniature bay
formed by the caving in of the bank during the
last great flood. His own boat was there anchored
by a stone, and he stepped into it, keeping his hand
on the gunwale of Nina's canoe. In a moment the
two little nutshells with their occupants floated
quietly side by side, reflected by the black water
in the dim light struggling through a high canopy
of dense foliage ; while above, away up in the broad
day, flamed immense red blossoms sending down on
their heads a shower of great dew-sparkling petals
that descended rotating slowly in a continuous and
perfumed stream ; and over them, under them, in
the sleeping water, all around them in a ring of
luxuriant vegetation bathed in the warm air charged
with strong and harsh perfumes, the intense work
of tropical nature went on : plants shooting up-
ward, entwined, interlaced in inextricable confusion,
climbing madly and brutally over each other in the
terrible silence of a desperate struggle towards the
life-giving sunshine above, as if struck with sudden
horror at the seething mass of corruption below,
at the death and deca}' from which they sprang.

ALMAYER'S KOLLY. 93

"We must part now," said Dain, after a long
silence. " You must return at once, Nina. I will
wait till the brig drifts down here, and shall get
on board then."

"And will you be long away, Dain? " asked Nina,
in a low voice.

" Long ! " exclaimed Dain. " Would a man will-
ingly remain long in a dark place ? When I am
not near you, Nina, I am like a man that is blind.
What is life to me without light ! "

Nina leaned over, and with a proud and happy
smile took Dain's face between her hands, looking
into his eyes with a fond yet questioning gaze.
Apparently she found there the confirmation of
the words just said, for a feeling of grateful secur-
ity lightened for her the weight of sorrow at the
hour of parting. She believed that he, the descend-
ant of many great Rajahs, the son of a great chief,
the master of life and death, knew the sunshine of
life only in her presence. An immense wave of
gratitude and love welled forth out of her heart
towards him. How could she make an outward and
visible sign of all she felt for the man who had filled
her heart with so much joy and so much pride ? And
in the great tumult of passion, like a flash of light-
ning came to her the reminiscence of that despised
and almost forgotten civilisation she had only glanced
at in her days of restraint, of sorrow, and of anger.

94 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

In the cold ashes of that hateful and miserable past
she would find the sign of love, the fitting expres-
sion of the boundless felicity of the present, the
pledge of a bright and splendid future. She threw
her arms around Dain's neck and pressed her lips
to his in a long and burning kiss. He closed his
eyes, surprised and frightened at the storm raised
in his breast by the strange and to him hitherto
unknown contact, and long after Nina had pushed
her canoe into the river he remained motionless,
without daring to open his eyes, afraid to lose the
sensation of intoxicating delight he had tasted for
the first time.

Now he wanted but immortality, he thought, to
be the equal of gods, and the creature that could
open so the gates of paradise must be his — soon
Avould be his for ever !

He opened his eyes in time to see through the
archway of creepers the bows of his brig come
slowly into view, as the vessel drifted past on its
way down the river. He must go on board now,
he thought ; yet he was loth to leave the place
where he had learned to know what happiness
meant. " Time yet. Let them go," he muttered
to himself; and he closed his eyes again under the
red shower of scented petals, trying to recall the
scene with all its delight and all its fear.

He must have been able to join his brig in time,

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 96

after all, and found much occupation outside, for
it was in vain that Almayer looked for his friend's
speedy return. The lower reach of the river where
he so often and so impatiently directed his eyes
remained deserted, save for the rapid flitting of
some fishing canoe ; but down the upper reaches
came black clouds and heavy showers heralding
the final setting in of tlie rainy season with its
thunder-storms and great floods making the river
almost impossible of ascent for native canoes.

Almayer, strolling along the muddy beach be-
tween his houses, watched uneasily the river rising
inch by inch, creeping slowly nearer to the boats,
now ready and hauled up in a row under the
cover of dripping Kajang-mats. Fortune seemed
to elude his grasp, and in his weary tramp back-
wards and forwards under the steady rain falling
from the lowering sky, a sort of despairing in-
difference took possession of him. What did it
matter? It was just his luck! Those two infernal
savages, Lakamba and Dain, induced him, with their
promises of help, to spend his last dollar in the
fitting out of boats, and now one of them was gone
somewhere, and the other shut up in his stockade
would give no sign of life. No, not even the
scoundrelly Babalatchi, thought Almayer, would
show his face near him, now they had sold him
all the rice, brass gongs, and cloth necessary for

96 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

his expedition. They had his very last coin, and
did not care whether he went or stayed. And with
a gesture of abandoned discouragement Almayer
would climb up slowly to the verandah of his new
house to get out of the rain, and leaning on the
front rail with his head sunk between his shoulders
he would abandon himself to the current of bitter
thoughts, oblivious of the flight of time and the
pangs of hunger, deaf to the shrill cries of his
wife calling him to the evening meal. When,
roused from his sad meditations by the first roll
of the evening thunder-storm, he stumbled slowly
towards the glimmering light of his old house, his
half-dead hope made his ears preternaturally acute
to any sound on the river. Several nights in suc-
cession he had heard the splash of paddles and had
seen the indistinct form of a boat, but when hailing
the shadowy apparition, his heart bo^lnding with
sudden hope of hearing Dain's voice, he was dis-
appointed each time by the sulky answer conveying
to him the intelligence that the Arabs were on
the river, bound on a visit to the home-staying
Lakamba. This caused him many sleepless nights,
spent in speculating upon the kind of villainy those
estimable personages were hatching now. At last,
when all hope seemed dead, he was overjoyed on
hearing Dain's voice ; but Dain also appeared very
anxious to see Lakamba, and Almayer felt uneaar

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 97

owing to a deep and ineradicable distrust as to
that ruler's disposition towards himself. Still,
Dain had returned at last. Evidently, he meant
to keep to his bargain. Hope revived, and that night
Almayer slept soundly, while Nina watched the
angry river under the lash of the thunder-storm
sweeping onward towards the sea.

CHAPTER VI.

Dain was not long in crossing the river after
leaving Almayer. He landed at the water-gate of
the stockade enclosing the group of houses which
composed the residence of the Rajah of Sambir.
Evidently somebody was expected there, for the
gate was open, and men with torches were ready to
precede the visitor up the inclined plane of planks
leading to the largest house, where Lakamba actu-
ally resided, and where all the business of state was
invariably transacted. The other buildings within
the enclosure served only to accommodate the numer-
ous household and the wives of the ruler.

Lakamba 's own house was a strong structure of
solid planks, raised on high piles, with a verandah
of split bamboos surrounding it on all sides; the
whole was covered in by an immensely high-pitched
roof of palm-leaves, resting on beams blackened by
the smoke of many torches.

The building stood parallel to the river, one of its
long sides facing the water-gate of the stockade.
There was a door in the short side looking up the
river, and the inclined plank-way led straight from

98

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 99

the gate to that door. By the uncertain light of
smoky torches, Dain noticed the vague outlines of a
group of armed men in the dark shadows to his
right. From that group Babalatchi stepped forward
to open the door, and Dain entered the audience
chamber of the Rajah's residence. About one-third
of the house was curtained off by heavy stuff of
European manufacture for tliat purpose; close to the
curtain there was a big armchair of some black wood,
much carved, and before it a rough deal table.
Otherwise, the room was only furnished with mats
in great profusion. To the left of the entrance
stood a rude arm-rack, with three rifles with fixed
bayonets in it. By the wall, in the shadow, the
body-guard of Lakamba — all friends or relations —
slept in a confused heap of browned arms, legs, and
multi-coloured garments, from whence issued an occa-
sional snore or a subdued groan of some uneasy
sleeper. An European lamp with a green shade,
standing on the table, made all this indistinctly
visible to Dain.

"You are welcome to your rest here," said Baba-
latchi, looking at Dain interrogatively.

"I must speak to the Rajah at once," answered
Dain.

Babalatchi made a gesture of assent, and, turning
to the brass gong suspended under the arm-rack,
struck two sharp blows.

100 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

The ear-splitting din woke up the guard. The
snores ceased; outstretched legs were drawn in;
the whole heap moved, and slowly resolved itself
into individual forms, with much yawning and rub-
bing of sleepy eyes ; behind the curtains there was
a burst of feminine chatter; then the bass voice of
Lakamba was heard.

"Is that the Arab trader?"

"No, Tuan," answered Babalatchi; "Dain has
returned at last. He is here for an important talk,
bitcharra — if you mercifully consent."

Evidently Lakamba's mercy went so far — for in a
short while he came out from behind the curtain —
but it did not go to the length of inducing him to
make an extensive toilet. A short red sarong tight-
ened hastily round his hips was his only garment.
The merciful ruler of Sambir looked sleepy and
rather sulky. He sat in the armchair, his knees
well apart, his elbows on the armrests, his chin on
his breast, breathing heavily and waiting malevo-
lently for Dain to open the important talk.

But Dain did not seem anxious to begin. He
directed his gaze towards Babalatchi, squatting
comfortably at the feet of his master, and remained
silent, with a slightly bent head as if in attentive
expectation of coming words of wisdom.

Babalatchi coughed discreetly, and, leaning for-
ward, pushed over a few mats for Dain to sit upon.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 101

then lifting up his squeaky voice he assured him
with eager volubility of everybody's delight at this
long-looked-for return. His heart had hungered for
the sight of Dain's face, and his ears were withering
for the want of the refreshing sound of his voice.
Everybody's hearts and ears were in the same sad
predicament, according to Babalatchi, as he indi-
cated with a sweeping gesture the other bank of the
river, where the settlement slumbered peacefully,
unconscious of the great joy awaiting it on the
morrow when Dain's presence amongst them would
be disclosed. " For " — went on Babalatchi — " what
is the joy of a poor man if not the open hand of a

generous trader or of a great "

Here he checked himself abruptly with a calcu-
lated embarrassment of manner, and his roving eye
sought the floor, while an apologetic smile dwelt
for a moment on his misshapen lips. Once or twice
during this opening speech an amused expression
flitted across Dain's face, soon to give way, how-
ever, to an appearance of grave concern. On La-
kamba's brow a heavy frown had settled, and his
lips moved angrily as he listened to his Prime Min-
ister's oratory. In the silence that fell upon the
room when Babalatchi ceased speaking arose a chorus
of varied snores from the corner, where the body-
guard had resumed their interrupted slumbers, but
the distant rumble of thunder filling then Nina's

102 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

heart with apprehension for the safety of her lover
passed unheeded by those three men intent each on
their own purposes, for life or death.

After a short silence, Babalatchi, discarding now
the flowers of polite eloquence, spoke again, but in
short and hurried sentences and in a low voice.
They had been very uneasy. Why did Dain remain
so long absent? The men dwelling on the lower
reaches of the river heard the reports of big guns
and saw a fire-ship of the Dutch amongst the islands
of the estuary. So they were anxious. Rumours
of a disaster had reached Abdulla a few days ago,
and since then they had been waiting for Dain's
return under the apprehension of some misfortune.
For days they had closed their eyes in fear, and
woke up alarmed, and walked abroad trembling, like
men before an enemy. And all on account of Dain.
Would he not allay their fears for his safety, not for
themselves? They were quiet and faithful, and
devoted to the great Rajah in Batavia — may his
fate lead him ever to victory for the joy and profit
of his servants! "And here," went on Babalatchi,
" Lakamba my master was getting thin in his anxi-
ety for the trader he had taken under his protection ;
and so was Abdulla, for what would wicked men not
say if perchance "

"Be silent, fool ! " growled Lakamba, angrily.

Babalatchi subsided into silence with a satisfied

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 103

smile, while Dain, who had been watching him as
if fascinated, turned with a sigh of relief towards
the ruler of Sambir. Lakamba did not move, and,
without raising his head, looked at Dain from under
his eyebrows, breathing audibly, with pouted lips,
in an air of general discontent.

"Speak I O Dain I'' he said at last. "We have
heard many rumours. Many nights in succession
has my friend Reshid come here with bad tidings.
News travels fast along the coast. But they may be
untrue; there are more lies in men's mouths in these
days than when I was young, but I am not easier
to deceive now."

"All my words are true," said Dain, carelessly.
"If you want to know Avhat befell my brig, then
learn that it is in the hands of the Dutch. Believe
me, Rajah," he went on, with sudden energy, "the
Orang Blanda have good friends in Sambir, or else
liow did they know I w^as coming thence?"

Lakamba gave Dain a short and malevolent
glance. Babalatchi rose quietly, and, going to the
arm-rack, struck the gong violently.

Outside the door there was a shuffle of bare feet ;
inside, the guard woke up and sat staring in sleepy
surprise.

"Yes, you faithful friend of the white Rajah,"
went on Dain, scornfully, turning to Babalatchi,
who had returned to his place, " I have escaped, and

104 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

1 am here to gladden your heart. When I saw the
Dutch ship I ran the brig inside the reefs and put
her ashore. They did not dare to follow with the
ship, so they sent the boats. We took to ours and
tried to get away, but the ship dropped fireballs at
us, and killed many of my men. But I am left, O
Babalatchi! The Dutch are coming here. They
are seeking for me. They are coming to ask their
faithful friend Lakamba and his slave Babalatchi.
Rejoice! "

But neither of his hearers appeared to be in a
joyful mood. Lakamba had put one leg over his
knee, and went on gently scratching it with a medi-
tative air, while Babalatchi, sitting cross-legged,
seemed suddenly to become smaller and very limp,
staring straight before him vacantly. The guard
evinced some interest in the proceedings, stretching
themselves full length on the mats to be nearer the
speaker. One of them got up and now stood lean-
ing against the arm-rack, playing absently with the
fringes of his sword-hilt.

Dain waited till the crash of thunder had died
away in distant mutterings before he spoke again.

" Are you dumb, O ruler of Sambir, or is the son
of a great Rajah unworthy of your notice? I am
come here to seek refuge and to warn you, and want
to know what you intend doing."

"You came here because of the white man's

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 106

daughter," retorted Lakamba, quickly. "Your ref-
uge was with your father, the Rajah of Bali, the
Son of Heaven, the 'Anak Agong ' himself. What
am I, to protect great princes? Only yesterday I
planted rice in a burnt clearing; to-day you say
I hold your life in my hand."

Babalatchi glanced at his master. " No man can
escape his fate," he murmured piously. " When
love enters a man's heart he is like a child — with-
out any understanding. Be merciful, Lakamba," he
added, twitching the corner of the Rajah's sarong
warningly.

Lakamba snatched away the skirt of the sarong
angrily. Under the dawning comprehension of
intolerable embarrassments caused by Dain's return
to Sambir he began to lose such composure as he had
been, till then, able to maintain; and now he raised
his voice loudly above the whistling of the wind
and the patter of rain on the roof in the hard squall
passing over the house.

"You came here first as a trader, with sweet words
and great promises, asking me to look the other way
while you worked you^ will on the white man there,.
And I did. What do you want now? When I was
young I fought. Now I am old, and want peace.
It is easier for me to have you killed than to fight
the Dutch. It is better for me."

The squall had now passed, and, in the short still-

lOr, ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

ness of the lull in the storm, Lakamba repeated
softly, as if to himself, "Much easier. Much
better."

Dain did not seem greatly discomposed by the
Rajah's threatening words. While Lakamba was
speaking he had glanced once rapidly over his shoul-
der, just to make sure that there was nobody behind
him, and, tranquillised in that respect, he had
extracted a siri-box out of the folds of his waist-
cloth, and was wrapping carefully the little bit of
betel-nut and a small pinch of lime in the green leaf
tendered him politely by the watchful Babalatchi.
He accepted this as a peace-offering from the silent
statesman — a kind of mute protest against his mas-
ter's undiplomatic violence, and as an omen of a
possible understanding to be arrived at yet. Other-
wise Dain was not uneasy. Although recognising
the justice of Lakamba's surmise that he had come
back to Sambir only for the sake of the white man's
daughter, yet he was not conscious of any childish
lack of understanding, as suggested by Babalatchi.
In fact, Dain knew very well that Lakamba was too
deeply implicated in the gunpowder smuggling to
care for an investigation by the Dutch authorities
into that matter. Wlien sent off by his father, the
independent Rajah of Bali, at the time when the
hostilities between Dutch and Malays threatened to
spread from Sumatra over the whole archipelago,

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 107

Dain had found all the big traders deaf to his
guarded proposals, and above the temptation of the
great prices he was ready to give for gunpowder.
He went to Sanibir as a last and almost hopeless
resort, having heard in Macassar of the white man
there, and of the regular steamer trading from Singa-
pore — allured also by the fact that there Mas no
Dutch resident on the river, which would make
things easier, no doubt. His hopes got nearly
wrecked against the stubborn loyalty of Lakamba,
arising from well-understood self-interest; but at
last the young man's generosity, his persuasive
enthusiasm, the prestige of his father's great name,
overpowered the prudent hesitation of the ruler of
Sambir. Lakamba would have nothing to do him-
self with any illegal traffic. He also objected to the
Arabs being made use of in that matter; but he
suggested Almayer, saying that he was a weak man
easily persuaded, and that his friend, the English
captain of the steamer, could be made very useful —
very likely even would join in the business, smug-
gling the powder in the steamer without Abdulla's
knowledge. There again Dain met in Almayer
with unexpected resistance ; Lakamba had to send
Babalatchi over with the solemn promise that his
eyes would be shut in friendship for the white man,
Dain paying for the promise and the friendship in
good silver guilders of the hated Orang Blanda.

108 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

Almayer, at last consenting, said the powder would
be obtained, but Dain must trust him with dollars
to send to Singapore in payment for it. He would
induce Ford to buy and smuggle it in the steamer
on board the brig. He did not want any money for
himself out of the transaction, but Dain must help
him in his great enterprise after sending off the
brig. Almayer had explained to Dain that he could
not trust Lakamba alone in that matter ; he would
be afraid of losing his treasure and his life through the
cupidity of the Rajah ; yet the Rajah had to be told,
and insisted in taking a share in that operation, or else
his eyes would remain shut no longer. To this Alma-
yer had to submit. Had Dain not seen Nina he would
have probably refused to engage himself and his men
in the projected expedition to Gunong Mas — the
mountain of gold. As it was, he intended to return
with half of his men as soon as the brig was clear of
the reefs, but the persistent chase given him by the
Dutch frigate had forced him to run south, and
ultimately to wreck and destroy his vessel in order
to preserve his liberty or perhaps even his life. Yes,
he had come back to Sambir for Nina, although
aware that the Dutch would look for him there, but
he also calculated his chances of safety in Lakam-
ba's hands. For all his ferocious talk, the merciful
ruler would not kill him, for he had long ago been
impressed with the notion that Dain possessed the

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 109

secret of the white man's treasure; neither would
he give him up to the Dutch, for fear of some fatal
disclosure of complicity in the treasonable trade.
So Dain felt tolerably secure as he sat meditating
quietly his answer to the Rajah's bloodthirsty
speech. Yes, he would point out to him the aspect
of his position should he — Dain — fall into the
hands of the Dutch and should he speak the truth.
He would have nothing more to lose then, and he
would speak the truth. And if he did return to
Sambir, disturbing thereby Lakamba's peace of mind,
what then? He came to look after his property.
Did he not pour a stream of silver into Mrs. Alma-
yer's greedy lap ? He had paid, for the girl, a price
worthy of a great prince, although unworthy of that
delightfully maddening creature for whom his un-
tamed soul longed in an intensity of desire far more
tormenting than the sharpest pain. He wanted his
happiness. He had the right to be in Sambir.

He rose, and, approaching the table, leaned both
his elbows on it; Lakamba responsively edged his
seat a little closer, while Babalatchi scrambled to
his feet and thrust his inquisitive head between his
master's and Dain's. They interchanged their ideas
rapidly, speaking in whispers into each other's faces,
very close now, Dain suggesting, Lakamba contra-
dicting, Babalatchi conciliating and anxious in his
vivid apprehension of coming difficulties. He spoke

110 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

most, whispering earnestly, turning his head slowly
from side to side, so as to bring his solitary eye to
bear upon each of his interlocutors in turn. Why
should there be strife? said he. Let Tuan Dain,
whom he loved only less than his master, go trust-
fully into hiding. There were many places for that.
Bulangi's house away in the clearing was best.
Bulangi was a safe man. In the network of crooked
channels no white man could find his way. White
men were strong, but very foolish. It was unde-
sirable to fight them, but deception was easy. They
Avere like silly women — they did not know the use of
reason, and he was a match for any of them — went
on Babalatchi, with all the confidence of deficient
experience. Probably the Dutch would seek Alma-
yer. Maybe they would take away their countryman
if he was suspicious to them. That would be good.
After the Dutch went away Lakamba and Dain
would get the treasure without any trouble, and
there would be one person less to share it. Did he
not speak wisdom? Will Tuan Dain go to Bu-
langi's house till the danger is over? Go at once.
Dain accepted this suggestion of going into hiding
Avith a certain sense of conferring a favour upon
Lakamba and the anxious statesman, but he met the
proposal of going at once with a decided no, looking
Babalatchi meaningly in the eye. The statesman
sighed, as a man accepting the inevitable would do,

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. Ill

and pointed silently towards the other bank of the
river. Dain bent his head slowly.

"Yes, I am going there," he said.

"Before the day comes?" asked Babalatchi.

"I am going there now," answered Dain, deci-
sively. " The Orang Blanda will not be here before
to-morrow night, perhaps, and I must tell Almayer
of our arrangements."

" No, Tuan. No ; say nothing, " protested Baba-
latchi. "I will go over myself at sunrise and let
him know."

"I will see," said Dain, preparing to go.

The thunder-storm was recommencing outside, the
heavy clouds hanging low overhead now. There
was a constant rumble of distant thunder punctuated
by the nearer sharp crashes, and in the continuous
play of blue lightning the woods and the river
showed fitfully, with all the elusive distinctness of
detail characteristic of such a scene. Outside the
door of the Rajah's house Dain and Babalatchi stood
on the shaking verandah as if dazed and stunned
by the violence of the storm. They stood there
amongst the cowering forms of the Rajah's slaves
and retainers seeking shelter from the rain, and
Dain called aloud to his boatmen, who responded
with an unanimous "Ada! Tuan!" while the}-
looked apprehensively at the river.

"This is a great flood!" shouted Babalatchi into

112 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

Dain's ear. "The river is very angry. Look I
Look at the drifting logs! Can you go?"

Dain glanced doubtfully on the livid expanse of
seething water bounded far away on the other side
by the narrow black line of the forests. Suddenly,
in a vivid white flash, the low point of land with
the bending trees on it and Alraayer's house leaped
into view, flickered and disappeared. Dain pushed
Babalatchi aside and ran down to the water-gate,
followed by his shivering boatmen.

Babalatchi backed slowly in and closed the door,
then turned round and looked silently upon La-
kamba. The Rajah sat still, glaring stonily upon
the table, and Babalatchi gazed curiously at the per-
plexed mood of the man he had served so many years
through good and evil fortune. No doubt the one-
eyed statesman felt within his savage and much
sophisticated breast the unwonted feelings of sym-
pathy with, and perhaps even pity for, the man he
called his master. From the safe position of a
confidential adviser, he could, in the dim vista of
past years, see himself a casual cut-throat, finding
shelter under that man's roof in the modest rice-
clearing of early beginnings. Then came a long
period of unbroken success, of wise counsels, and
deep plottings resolutely carried out by the fearless
Lakamba, till the whole east coast from Poulo Laut
to Tanjong Batu listened to Babalatchi 's wisdom,

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 113

speaking through the mouth of the ruler of Sambir.
In those long years how many dangers escaped, how
many enemies bravely faced, how many white men
successfully circumvented ! And now he looked
upon the result of so many years of patient toil: the
fearless Lakamba cowed by the shadow of an im-
pending trouble. The ruler was growing old, and
Babalatchi, aware of an uneasy feeling at the pit of
his stomach, put both his hands there with a sud-
denly vivid and sad perception of the fact that he
himself was gowing old, too; that the time of reck-
less daring was past for both of them, and that they
had to seek refuge in prudent cunning. They
wanted peace; they were disposed to reform; they
were ready even to retrench, so as to have the
wherewithal to bribe the evil days away, if bribed
away they could be. Babalatchi sighed for the
second time that night as he squatted again at his
master's feet and tendered him his betel-nut box in
mute sympathy. And they sat there in close yet
silent communion of betel-nut chewers, moving their
jaws slowly, expectorating decorously into the wide-
mouthed brass vessel they passed to one another,
and listening to the awful din of the battling ele-
ments outside.

"There is a very great flood," remarked Baba-
latchi, sadly.

" Yes, " said Lakamba. " Did Dain go ? "

114 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

" He went, Tuan. He ran down to the river like
a man possessed of the Sheitan himself."

There was another long pause.

"He may get drowned," suggested Lakamba at
last, with some show of interest.

"The floating logs are many," answered Baba-
latchi; "but he is a good swimmer," he added lan-
guidly.

"He ought to live," said Lakamba; "he knows
where the treasure is."

Babalatchi assented with an ill-humoured grunt.
His want of success in penetrating the white man's
secret as to the locality where the gold was to be
found was a sore point with the statesman of Sam-
bir, as the only conspicuous failure in an otherwise
brilliant career.

A great peace had now succeeded the turmoil of
the storm. Only the little belated clouds, which
hurried past overhead to catch up the main body
flashing silently in the distance, sent down short
showers that pattered softly with a soothing hiss
over the palm-leaf roof.

Lakamba roused himself from his apathy with an
appearance of having grasped the situation at last.

"Babalatchi," he called briskly, giving him a
slight kick.

"Ada Tuan! I am listening."

"If the Orang Blanda come here, Babalatchi, and

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 115

take Almayer to Batavia to punish him for smug-
gling gunpowder, what will he do, you think?"

"I do not know, Tuan."

"You are a fool," commented Lakamba, exult-
ingly. " He will tell them where the treasure is, so
as to find mercy. He will."

Babalatchi looked up at his master and nodded
his head with by no means a joyful surprise. He
had not thought of this; there was a new compli-
cation.

"Almayer must die," said Lakamba, decisively,
"to make our secret safe. He must die quietly,
Babalatchi. You must do it."

Babalatchi assented, and rose wearily to his feet.
"To-morrow?" he asked.

" Yes ; before the Dutch come. He drinks much
coffee," answered Lakamba, with seeming irrele-
vancy.

Babalatchi stretched himself yawning, but La-
kamba, in the flattering consciousness of a knotty
problem solved by his own unaided intellectual
efforts, grew suddenly very wakeful.

"Babalatchi," he said to the exhausted statesman,
"fetch the box of music the white captain gave me.
I cannot sleep."

At this order a deep shade of melancholy settled
upon Babalatchi 's features. He went reluctantly
behind the curtain and soon reappeared, carrying in

116 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

his arms a small hand-organ, which he put down on
the table with an air of deep dejection. Lakamba
settled himself comfortably in his armchair.

"Turn, Babalatchi, turn," he murmured, with
closed eyes.

Babalatchi 's hand grasped the handle with the
energy of despair, and as he turned, the deep
gloom on his countenance changed into an expression
of hopeless resignation. Through the open shutter
the notes of Verdi's music floated out on the great
silence over the river and forest. Lakamba listened
with closed eyes and a delighted smile ; Babalatchi
turned, at times dozing off and swaying over, then
catching himself up in a great fright with a few
quick turns of the handle. Nature slept in an
exhausted repose after the fierce turmoil, while
under the unsteady hand of the statesman of Sambir
the Trovatore fitfully wept, wailed, and bade good-
bye to his Leonore again and again, in a mournful
round of tearful and endless iteration.

CHAPTER VII.

The bright sunshine of the clear mistless morn-
ing, after the stormy night, flooded the main path
of the settlement leading from the low shore of the
Pantai branch of the river to the gate of AbduUa's
compound. The path was deserted this morning;
it stretched its dark yellow surface, hard beaten by
the tramp of many bare feet, between the clusters
of palm trees, whose tall trunks barred it with strong
black lines at irregular intervals, while the newly
risen sun threw the shadows of their leafy heads
far away over the roofs of the buildings lining the
river, even over the river itself as it flowed swiftly
and silently past the deserted houses. For the
houses were deserted too. On the narrow strip of
trodden grass intervening between their open doors
and the road, the morning fires smouldered untended,
sending thin fluted columns of smoke into the cool
air, and spreading the thinnest veil of mysterious
blue haze over the sunlit solitude of the settlement.
Almayer, just out of his hammock, gazed sleepily
at the unwonted appearance of Sambir, wondering

117

118 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

vaguely at the absence of life. His own house was
very quiet; he could not hear his wife's voice, nor
the sound of Nina's footsteps in the big room open-
ing on the verandah which he called his sitting-
^-oom, whenever, in the company of white men, he
wished to assert his claims to the commonplace
decencies of civilisation. Nobody ever sat there ;
there was nothing there to sit upon, for Mrs.
Almayer, in her savage moods, when excited by
the reminiscences of the piratical period of her life,
had torn off the curtains to make sarongs for the
slave-girls, and had burnt the showy furniture piece-
meal to cook the family rice. But Almayer was
not thinking of his furniture now. He was think-
ing of Dain's return, of Dain's nocturnal interview
with Lakamba, of its possible influence on his long-
matured plans, now nearing the period of their
execution. He was also uneasy at the non-appear-
ance of Dain, who had promised him an early visit.
" The fellow had plenty of time to cross the river,"
he mused, "and there was so much to be done
to-day. The settling of details for the early start
on the morrow ; the launching of the boats ; the
thousand and one finishing touches. For the expe-
dition must start complete, nothing should be for-
gotten, nothing should "

The sense of the unwonted solitude grew upon
him suddenly, and in the unusual silence he caught

ALMAYER'S 1 OI.LV 119

himself longing even for the usually unwelcome
sound of his wife's voice to break the oppressive
stillness which seemed, to his frightened fancy, to
portend the advent of some new fortune. " What
has happened?" he muttered half aloud, as he
shuffled in his imperfectly adjusted slippers towards
the balustrade of the verandah. " Is everybody
asleep or dead?"

The settlement was alive and very much awake.
It was awake ever since the early break of day,
when Mahmat Banjer, in a fit of unheard-of energy,
arose and, taking up his hatchet, stepped over the
sleeping forms of his two wives and walked shiver-
ing to the water's edge to make sure that the new
house he was building had not floated away during
the night.

The house was being built by the enterprising
Mahmat on a large raft, and he had securely moored
it just inside the muddy point of land at the junc-
tion of the two branches of the Pantai so as to be
out of the way of drifting logs that would no doubt
strand on the point during the freshet. Mahmat
walked through the wet grass saying Courrouh,
and cursing softly to himself the hard necessities
of active life that drove him from his warm couch
into the cold of the morning. A glance showed
him that his house was still there, and lie congratu-
lated himself on his foresight in hauling it out oi

120 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

harm's way, for the increasing light showed him
a confused wrack of drift-logs, half -stranded on the
muddy flat, interlocked into a shapeless raft by
their branches, tossing to and fro and grinding
together in the eddy caused by the meeting currents
of the two branches of the river. Mahmat walked
down to the water's edge to examine the rattan
moorings of his house just as the sun cleared the
trees of the forest on the opposite store. As he
bent over the fastenings he glanced again carelessly
at the unquiet jumble of logs and saw there some-
thing that caused him to drop his hatchet and
stand up, shading his eyes with his hand from the
rays of the rising sun. It was something red, and
the logs rolled over it, at times closing round it,
sometimes hiding it. It looked to him at first like
a strip of red cloth. The next moment Mahmat
had made it out and raised a great shout.

"Ah ya! There!" yelled Mahmat. "There's a
man amongst the logs." He put the palms of his
hands to his lips and shouted, enunciating distinctly,
his face turned towards the settlement : " There's a
body of a man in the river ! Come and see ! A
dead — stranger! "

The women of the nearest house were already out-
side kindling the fires and husking the morning rice.
They took up the cry shrilly, and it travelled so from
house to house, dying away in the distance. The

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 121

men rushed out excited but silent, and ran towards
the muddy point where the unconscious logs tossed
and ground and bumped and rolled over the dead
stranger with the stupid persistency of inanimate
things. The women followed, neglecting their
domestic duties and disregarding the possibilities
of domestic discontent, while groups of children
brought up the rear, warbling joyously, in the
delight of unexpected excitement.

Almayer called aloud for his wife and daughter,
but receiving no response, stood listening intently.
The murmur of the crowd reached him faintly,
bringing with it the assurance of some unusual
event. He glanced at the river just as he was
going to leave the verandah and checked himself
at the sight of a small canoe crossing over from
the Rajah's landing-place. The solitary occupant
(in whom Almayer soon recognised Babalatchi)
effected the crossing a little below the house and
paddled up to the Lingard jetty in the dead water
under the bank. Babalatchi clambered out slowly
and went on fastening his canoe with fastidious care,
as if not in a hurry to meet Almayer, whom he saw
looking at him from the verandah. This delay gave
Almayer time to notice and greatly wonder at Baba-
latchi's official get-up. The statesman of Sambir
was clad in a costume befitting his high rank. A
loudly checkered sarong encircled his waist, and

122 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

from its many folds peeped out the silver hilt of
the kriss that saw the light only on great festivals
or during official receptions. Over the left shoulder
and across the otherwise unclad breast of the aged
diplomatist glistened a patent leather belt bearing a
brass plate with the arms of Netherlands under
the inscription, " Sultan of Sambir," Babalatchi's
head was covered by a red turban, whose fringed
ends falling over the left cheek and shoulder gave
to his aged face a ludicrous expression of joyous
recklessness. When the canoe was at last fastened
to his satisfaction he straightened himself up, shak-
ing down the folds of his sarong, and moved with
long strides towards Almayer's house, swinging
regularly his long ebony staff, whose gold head
ornamented with precious stones flashed in tlie
morning sun. Almayer waved his hand to the
right towards the point of land, to him invisible,
but in full view from the jetty.

"Oh, Babalatchi! oh!" he called out; "what is
the matter there ? can you see ? "

Babalatchi stopped and gazed intently at the
crowd on the river bank, and after a little while
the astonished Almayer saw him leave the path,
gather up his sarong in one hand, and break into
a trot through the grass towards the muddy point.
Almayer, now greatly interested, ran down the
steps of the verandah. The murmur of meu'a

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 123

voices and the shrill cries of women reached him
quite distinctly now, and as soon as he turned the
corner of his house he could see the crowd on
the low promontory swaying and pushing round
some object of interest. He could indistinctly hear
Babalatchi's voice, then the crowd opened before
the aged statesman and closed after him with an
excited hum, ending in a loud shout.

As Almayer approached the throng a man ran
out and rushed past him towards the settlement,
unheeding his call to stop and explain the cause
of this excitement. On the very outskirts of the
crowd Almayer found himself arrested by an un-
yielding mass of humanity, regardless of his en-
treaties for a passage, insensible to his gentle pushes
as he tried to work his way through it towards
the riverside.

In the midst of his gentle and slow progress he
fancied suddenly he had heard his wife's voice in
the thickest of the throng. He could not mistake
very well Mrs. Almayer's high-pitched tones, yet
the words were too indistinct for him to understand
their purport. He paused in his endeavours to
make for himself a passage, intending to get some
intelligence from those around him, when a long
and piercing shriek rent the air, silencing the mur-
murs of the crowd and the voices of his informants.
For a moment Almayer remained as if turned into

124 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

stone with astonishment and horror, for he was
certain now that he had heard his wife wailing for
the dead. He remembered Nina's unusual absence,
and maddened by his apprehensions as to her safety,
he pushed blindly and violently forward, the crowd
falling back with cries of surprise and pain before
his frantic advance.

On the point of land in a little clear space lay
the body of the stranger just hauled out from
amongst the logs. On one side stood Babalatchi,
his chin resting on the head of his staff and his
one eye gazing steadily at the shapeless mass of
broken limbs, torn flesh, and bloodstained rags.
As Almayer burst through the ring of horrified
spectators, Mrs. Almayer threw her own head-veil
over the upturned face of the drowned man, and,
squatting by it, with another mournful howl, sent
a shiver through the now silent crowd. Mahmat,
dripping wet, turned to Almayer, eager to tell his
tale.

In the first moment of reaction from the anguish
of his fear the sunshine seemed to waver before
Almayer's eyes, and he listened to words spoken
around him without comprehending their meaning.
When, by a strong effort of will, he regained the
possession of his senses, Mahmat was saying —

" That is the way, Tuan. His sarong was
caaght in the broken branch, and he hung with

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 125

his head under water. When I saw what it was
I did not want it here. I wanted it to get clear
and drift away. Why should we bury a stranger
in the midst of our houses for his ghost to frighten
our women and children? Have we not enough
ghosts about this place?"

A murmur of approval interrupted him here.
Mahmat looked reproachfully at Babalatchi.

"But the Tuan Babalatchi ordered me to drag
the body ashore " — he went on looking round at
his audience, but addressing himself only to Almayer
— " and I dragged him by the feet ; in through
the mud I have dragged him, although my heart
longed to see him float down the river to strand
perchance on Bulangi's clearing — may his father's
grave be defiled! "

There was subdued laughter at this, for the
enmity of Mahmat and Bulangi was a matter of
common notoriety and of undying interest to the
inhabitants of Sambir. In the midst of that mirth
Mrs. Almayer wailed suddenly again.

" Allah ! What ails the woman ! " exclaimed
Mahmat, angrily. " Here, I have touched this
carcass which came from nobody knows where,
and have most likely defiled myself before eating
rice. By orders of Tuan Babalatchi I did this
thing to please the white man. Are you pleased,
O Tuan Almayer? And what will be my recom-

126 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

pense? Tuan Babalatchi said a recompense there
will be, and from you. Now consider. I have
been defiled, and if not defiled I may be under
the spell. Look at his anklets ! Who ever heard
of a corpse appearing during the night amongst
the logs with gold anklets on its legs? There is
witchcraft there. However," added Mahmat, after
a reflective pause, "I will have the anklet if there
is permission, for I have a charm against the ghosts
and am not afraid. God is great ! "

A fresh outburst of noisy grief from Mrs. Almayer
checked the flow of Mahmat's eloquence. Almayer,
bewildered, looked in turn at his Nfife, at Mahmat,
at Babalatchi, and at last arrested his fascinated
gaze on the body lying on the mud with covered
face in a grotesquely unnatural contortion of man-
gled and broken limbs, one twisted and lacerated
arm, with white bones protruding in many places
through the torn flesh, stretched out; the hand
with outspread fingers nearly touching his foot.

" Do you know who this is ? " he asked of
Babalatchi, in a low voice.

Babalatchi, staring straight before him, hardly
moved his lips, while Mrs. Almayer's persistent
lamentations drowned the whisper of his mur-
mured reply intended only for Almayer's ear.

" It was fate. Look at your feet, white man. I can
see a ring on those torn fingers which I know well."

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 127

Saying this, Babalatchi stepped carelessly forward,
putting his foot as if accidentally on the hand of
the corpse and pressing it into the soft mud. He
swung his staff menacingly towards the crowd,
which fell back a little.

" Go away," he said sternly, " and send your
women to their cooking fires, which they ought not
to have left to run after a dead stranger. This is
men's work here. I take him now in the name of
the Rajah. Let no man remain here but Tuan
Almayer's slaves. Now go ! "

The crowd reluctantly began to disperse. The
women went first, dragging away the children that
hung back with all their weight on the maternal
hand. The men strolled slowly after them in ever
forming and changing groups that gradually dis-
solved as they neared the settlement, and every
man regained his own house with steps quickened
by the hungry anticipation of the morning rice.
Only on the slight elevation where the land sloped
down towards the muddy point a few men, either
friends or enemies of Mahmat, remained gazing
curiously for some time longer at the small group
standing around the body on the river bank.

" I do not understand what you mean, Babalatchi,"
said Almayer. " What is the ring you are talking
about ? You have trodden the poor fellow's — who-
ever he is — hand right into the mud. Uncover

128 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

his face," he went on, addressing Mrs. Almayer,
who, squatting by the head of the corpse, rocked
herself to and fro, shaking from time to time her
dishevelled grey locks, and muttering mournfully.

"Hai!" exclaimed Mahmat, who had lingered
alose by. "Look, Tuan; the logs came together
so," and here he pressed the palms of his hands
together, " and his head must have been between
them, and now there is no face for you to look at.
There are his flesh and his bones, the nose, and
the lips, and maybe his eyes, but nobody could
tell the one from the other. It was written the
day he was born that no man could look at him in
death and be able to say, ' This is my friend's
face.'"

" Silence, Mahmat ; enough ! " said Babalatchi,
"• and take thy eyes off his anklet, thou eater of pigs'
flesh. Tuan Almayer," he went on, lowering his
voice, " have you seen Dain this morning ? "

Almayer opened his eyes wide and looked alarmed.
" No," he said quickly ; " haven't you seen him ?
Is he not with the Rajah? I am waiting ; why does
he not come ? "

Babalatchi nodded his head sadly.

" He is come, Tuan. He left last night when the
storm was great and the river spoke angrily. The
night was very black, but he had within him a light
that showed the way to your house as smooth as a

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 129

narrow backwater, and the many logs no bigger than
wisps of dried grass. Therefore he went ; and now
he lies here." And Babalatchi nodded his head
towards the body.

"How can you tell?" said Almayer, excitedly,
pushing his wife aside. He snatched the cover off
and looked at the inform mass of flesh, hair, and
drying mud, where the face of the drowned man
should have been. "Nobody can tell," he added,
turning away with a shudder.

Babalatchi was on his knees wiping the mud from
the stiffened fingers of the outstretched hand. He
rose to his feet and flashed before Almayer's eyes a
gold ring set with a large green stone.

" You know this well," he said. " This never left
Dain's hand. I had to tear the flesh now to get it
off. Do you believe now ? "

Almayer raised his hands to his head and let them
fall listlessly by his side in the utter abandonment
of despair. Babalatchi, looking at him curiously,
was astonished to see him smile. A strange fancy
had taken possession of Almayer's brain, distracted
by this new misfortune. It seemed to him that for
many years he had been falling into a deep precipice.
Day after day, month after month, year after year,
he had been falling, falling, falling ; it was a smooth,
round, black thing, and the black walls had been
rushing upwards with wearisome rapidity. A great

130 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

rush, the noise of which he fancied he could hear
yet ; and now, with an awful shock, he had reached
the bottom, and behold ! he was alive and whole,
and Dain was dead with all his bones broken. It
struck him as funny. A dead Malay : he had seen
many dead Malays without any emotion ; and now
he felt inclined to weep, but it was over the fate of
a white man he knew ; a man that fell over a deep
precipice and did not die. He seemed somehow to
himself to be standing on one side, a little way off,
looking at a certain Almayer who was in great
trouble. Poor, poor fellow ! Why doesn't he cut
his throat ? He wished to encourage him ; he was
very anxious to see him lying dead over that other
corpse. Why does he not die and end this suffer-
ing ? He groaned aloud unconsciously and started
with affright at the sound of his own voice. Was
he going mad ? Terrified by the thought he turned
away and ran towards his house, repeating to him-
self, " I am not going mad ; of course not, no, no.
no ! " He tried to keep a firm hold of the idea.
Not mad, not mad! He stumbled as he ran blindly
up the steps repeating fast and ever faster those
words wherein seemed to lie his salvation. He saw
Nina standing there, and wished to say something to
lier, but could not remember what, in his extreme
anxiety not to forget that he was not going mad,
which he still kept repeating mentally as he ran

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 131

round the table, till he stumbled against one of the
armchairs and dropped into it exhausted. He sat
staring wildly at Nina, still assuring himself men-
tally of his own sanity and wondering why the girl
shrank from him in open-eyed alarm. What was
the matter with her ? This was foolish. He struck
the table violently with his clenched fist and shouted
hoarsely, '' Give me some gin! Run! '" Then, while
Nina ran off, he remained in the chair, very still and
quiet, astonished at the noise he had made.

Nina returned with a tumbler half filled with
gin, and found her father staring absently before
him. Almayer felt very tired now, as if he had
come from a long journey. He felt as if he had
walked miles and miles that morning and now
wanted to rest very much. He took the tumbler
with a shaking hand, and as he drank, his teeth
chattered against the glass, which he drained and
set down heavily on the table. He turned his eyes
slowly towards Nina standing beside him, and said
steadily —

" Now all is over, Nina. He is dead, and I may
as well burn all my boats."

He felt very proud of being able to speak so
calmly. Decidedly he was not going mad. This
certitude was very comforting, and he went on talk-
ing about the finding of the body, listening to his
own voice complacently. Nina stood quietly, her

132 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

hand resting lightly on her father's shoulder, her
face unmoved, but every line of her features, the
attitude of her whole body expressing the most
keen and anxious attention.

" And so Dain is dead," she said coldly, when
her father ceased speaking.

Almayer's elaborately calm demeanour gave way
in a moment to an outburst of violent indignation.

" You stand there as if you were only half alive,
and talk to me," he exclaimed angrily, " as if it was
a matter of no importance. Yes, he is dead! Do
you understand ? Dead ! What do you care ?
You never cared; you saw me struggle, and work,
and strive, unmoved ; and my suffering you could
never see. No, never. You have no heart, and
you have no mind, or you would have understood
that it was for you, for your happiness I was work-
ing. I wanted to be rich ; I wanted to get away
from here. I wanted to see white men bowing low
before the power of your beauty and your wealth.
Old as I am I wished to seek a strange land, a civil-
isation to which I am a stranger, so as to find a new
life in the contemplation of your high fortunes, of
your triumphs, of your happiness. For that I bore
patiently the burden of work, of disappointment, of
humiliation amongst these savages here, and I had
it all nearly in my grasp.'

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 133

He looked at his daughter's unmoved face and
jumped to his feet, upsetting the chair.

" Do you hear ? I had it all there ; so ; within
reach of my hand."

He paused, trying to keep down his rising anger,
and failed.

" Have you no feeling? " he went on. " Have you
lived without hope ? " Nina's silence exasperated
him ; his voice rose, although he tried to master his
feelings.

" Are you content to live in this misery and die in
this wretched hole ? Say something, Nina ; have
you no sympathy ? Have you no word of comfort
for me ? I that loved you so."

He waited for a while for an answer, and receiv-
ing none shook his fist in his daughter's face.

" I believe you are an idiot! " he yelled.

He looked round for the chair, picked it up and
sat down stiffly. His anger was dead within him,
and he felt ashamed of his outburst, yet relieved to
think that now he had laid clear before his daughter
the inner meaning of his life. He thought so in per-
fect good faith, deceived by the emotional estimate
of his motives, unable to see the crookedness of his
ways, the unreality of his aims, the futility of his
regrets. And now his heart was filled only with
a great tenderness and love for his daughter. He
wanted to see her miserable, and to share with her

134 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

his despair ; but he wanted it only as all weak
natures long for a companionship in misfortune with
beings innocent of its cause. If she suffered herself
she would understand and pity him; but now she
would not, or could not, find one word of comfort or
love for him in his dire extremity. The sense of his
absolute loneliness came home to his heart with a
force that made him shudder. He swayed and fell
forward with his face on the table, his arms stretched
straight out, extended and rigid. Nina made a
quick movement towards her father and stood look-
ing at the grey head on the broad shoulders shaken
convulsively by the violence of feelings that found
relief at last in sobs and tears.

Nina sighed deeply and moved away from the
table. Her features lost the appearance of stony
indifference that had exasperated her father into his
outburst of anger and sorrow. The expression of
her face, now unseen by her father, underwent a
rapid change. She had listened to Almayer's appeal
for sympathy, for one word of comfort, apparently
unmoved, yet with her breast torn by conflicting
impulses raised unexpectedly by events she had not
foreseen, or at least did not expect to happen so soon.
With her heart deeply moved by the sight of Al-
mayer's misery, knowing it in her power to end it
with a word, longing to bring peace to that troubled
heart, she heard with terror the voice of her over-

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 135

powering love commanding her to be silent. And
she submitted after a short and fierce struggle of her
old self against the new principle of her life. Shu
wrapped herself up in absolute silence, the only safe-
guard against some fatal admission. She could not
trust herself to make a sign, to murmur a word for
fear of saying too much; and the very violence of
the feelings that stirred the innermost reces'^es of her
soul seemed to turn her person into a stone. The
dilated nostrils and the flashing eyes were the only
signs of the storm raging within, and those signs of
his daughter's emotion Almayer did not see, for his
sight was dimmed by self-pity, by anger, and by
despair.

Had Almayer looked at his daughter as she leant
over the front rail of the verandah he could have
seen the expression of indifference give way to a
look of jDain, and that again pass away, leaving the
glorious beauty of her face marred by deep-di-awn
lines of watchful anxiety. The long grass in the
neglected courtyard stood very straight before her
eyes in the noonday heat. From the river-bank
there were voices and a shuffle of bare feet approach-
ing the house ; Babalatchi could be heard giving
directions to Almayer's men, and Mrs. Almayer's
subdued wailing became audible as the small pro-
cession bearing the body of the di'owned man and
headed by that sorrowful matron turned the corner

136 ALMAVEK'S K(JLLY.

of the house. Babalatchi had taken the broken
anklet off the man's leg, and now held it in his
hand as he moved by the side of the bearers, while
Mahmat lingered behind timidly, in the hopes of the
promised reward.

" Lay him there," said Babalatchi to Almayer's
men, pointing to a pile of drying planks in front
of the verandah. " Lay him there. He was a Kaffir
and the son of a dog, and he was the white man's
friend. He drank the white man's strong water,"
he added, with affected horror. " That I have seen
myself."'

The men stretched out the broken limbs on two
planks they had laid level, while Mrs. Almayer cov-
ered the body with a piece of white cotton cloth, and
after whispering for some time with Babalatchi
departed to her domestic duties. Almayer's men,
after laying down their burden, dispersed themselves
in quest of shady spots wherein to idle the day away.
Babalatchi was left alone by the corpse that laid
rigid under the white cloth in the bright sunshine.

Nina came down the steps and joined Babalatchi,
who put his hand to his forehead, and squatted down
with great deference.

" You have a bangle there," said Nina, looking
down on Babalatchi's upturned face and into his
solitary eye.

"I have, Mem Putih," returned the polite states

ALMAYEk'S FULLY. 137

man. Then turning towards Mahmat he beckoned
him closer, calling out, " Come here! "

Mahmat approached with some hesitation. He
avoided looking at Nina, but fixed his eyes on
Babalatchi.

" Now, listen," said Babalatchi, sharply. " The
ring and the anklet you have seen, and you know
they belonged to Dain the trader, and to no other.
Dain returned last night in a canoe. He spoke with
the Rajah, and in the middle of the night left to
cross over to the white man's house. There was a
great flood, and this morning jou found him in the
river."

'■'• By his feet I dragged him out," muttered
Mahmat under his breath. " Tuan Babalatchi, there
will be a recompense ! " he exclaimed aloud.

Babalatchi held up the gold bangle before Mah-
mat's eyes. " What I have told you, Mahmat, is f oi
all ears. What I give you now is for your eyes only.
Take."

Mahmat took the bangle eagerly and hid it in the
folds of his waist-cloth. " Am I a fool to show this
thing in a house with three women in it ? " he
growled. " But I shall tell them about Dain the
trader, and there will be talk enough."

He turned and went away, increasing his pace as
soon as he was outside Almayer's compound.

Babalatchi looked after him till he disappeared

138 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

behind the bushes. " Have 1 doue well, Mem
Putih? " he asked, humbly addressing Nina.

" You have," answered Nina. " The ring you may
keep yourself."

Babalatchi touched his lips and forehead, and
scrambled to his feet. He looked at Nina, as if ex-
pecting her to say something more, but Nina turned
towards the house and went up the steps, motioning
him away with her hand.

Babalatchi picked up his staff and prepared to go.
It was very warm, and he did not care for the long
pull to the Rajah's house. Yet he must go and tell
the Rajah — tell of the event ; of the change in his
plans ; of all his suspicions. He walked to the jetty
and began casting off the rattan painter of his canoe.

The broad expanse of the lower reach, with its
shimmering surface dotted by the black specks of
the fishing canoes, lay before his eyes. The fisher-
men seemed to be racing. Babalatchi paused in his
work, and looked on with sudden interest. The
man in the foremost canoe, now within hail of the
first houses of Sambir, laid in his paddle and stood
up shouting —

'•' The boats ! the boats I The man-of-war's boats
are coming ! They are here ! "

In a moment the settlement was again alive with
people rushing to the riverside. The men began to
unfasten their boats, the women stood in groups

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 139

looking towards the bend down the river. Above
the trees lining the reach a slight puff of smoke
appeared like a black stain on the brilliant blue of
the cloudless sky.

Babalatchi stood perplexed, the painter in his
hand. He looked down the reach, then up towards
Almayer's house, and back again at the river as if
undecided what to do. At last he made the canoe
fast again hastily, and ran towards the house and
up the steps of the verandah.

"Tuan! Tuan!" he called, eagerly. "The boats
are coming. The man-of-war's boats. You had
better get ready. The officers will come here, I
know."

Almayer lifted his head slowly from the table, and
looked at him stupidly.

" Mem Putih ! " exclaimed Babalatchi to Nina,
" look at him. He does not hear. You must take
care," he added meaningly.

Nina nodded to him with an uncertain smile, and
was going to speak, when a sharp report from the
gun mounted in the bow of the steam launch that
was just then coming into view arrested the words
on her parted lips. The smile died out, and was
replaced by the old look of anxious attention.
From the hills far away the echo came back like
a long-drawn and mournful sigh, as if the land had
sent it in answer to the voice of its masters.

CHAPTER VIII.

The news as to the identity of the body lying
now in Almayer's compound spread rapidly over the
settlement. During the forenoon most of the inhab-
itants remained in the long street discussing the
mysterious return and the unexpected death of the
man who had become known to them as the trader.
His arrival during the north-east monsoon, his long
sojourn in their midst, his sudden departure with
his brig, and, above all, the mysterious appearance of
the body, said to be his, amongst the logs, were sub-
jects to wonder at and to talk over and over again
with undiminished interest. Mahmat moved from
house to house and from group to group, always
ready to repeat his tale : how he saw the bod}'
caught by the sarong in a forked log ; how Mrs.
Almayer coming, one of the first, at his cries, recog-
nised it, even before he had it hauled on shore ; how
Babalatchi ordered him to bring it out of the water.
"By the feet I dragged him in, and there was no
head," exclaimed Mahmat, " and how could the white
man's wife know who it was? She was a witch, it

140

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 141

was well known. And did you see how the white
man himself ran away at the sight of the body?
Like a deer he ran ! " And here Mahmat imitated
Almayer's long strides, to the great joy of the be-
holders. And for all his trouble he had nothing.
The ring with the green stone Tuan Babalatchi
kept. "• Nothing ! Nothing ! " He spat down at
his feet in sign of disgust, and left that group to
seek further on a fresh audience.

The news spreading to the furthermost parts of
the settlement found out Abdulla in the cool recess
of his godown, where he sat overlooking his Arab
clerks and the men loading and unloading the up-
country canoes. Reshid, who was busy on the jetty,
was summoned into his uncle's presence, and found
him, as usual, very calm and even cheerful, but
very much surprised. The rumour of the capture
or destruction of Dain's brig had reached the Arab's
ears three days before from the sea-fishermen and
through the dwellers on the lower reaches of the
river. It had been passed up-stream from neighbour
to neighbour till Bulangi, whose clearing was near-
est to the settlement, had brought that news himself
to Abdulla, whose favour he courted. But rumour
also spoke of a fight and of Dain's death on board
his own vessel. And now all the settlement talked
of Dain's visit to the Rajah and of liis death when
crossing the river in the dark to see Almayer.

142 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

They could not understand this. Reshid thought
that it was very strange. He felt uneasy and
doubtful. But Abdulla, after the first shock of
surprise, with the old age's dislike for solving rid-
dles, showed a becoming resignation. He remarked
that the man was dead now at all events, and con-
sequently no more dangerous. Where was the use
to wonder at the decrees of Fate, especially if they
were propitious to the True Believers? And with
a pious ejaculation to Allah the Merciful, the Com-
passionate, Abdulla seemed to regard the incident
as closed for the present.

Not so Reshid. He lingered by his uncle, pulling
thoughtfully his neatly trimmed beard.

" There are many lies," he murmured. " He has
been dead once before, and come to life to die again
now. The Dutch will be here before many days
and clamour for the man. Shall I not believe my
eyes sooner than the tongues of women and idle
men ? "

" They say that the body is being taken to
Almayer's compound," said Abdulla. '' If you want
to go there you must go before the Dutch arrive
here. Go late. It should not be said that we have
been seen inside that man's enclosure lately."

Reshid assented to the truth of this last remark
and left his uncle's side. He leaned against the
lintel of the big doorway and looked idly across the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 143

courtyard through the open gate on to the main
road of the settlement. It lay empty, straight, and
yellow under the flood of light. In the hot noon-
tide, the smooth trunks of palm trees, the outlines
of the houses, and away there at the other end of
the road the roof of Almayer's house visible over
the bushes on the dark background of forest, seemed
to quiver in the heat radiating from the steaming
earth. Swarms of yellow butterflies rose, and set-
tled to rise again in short flights before Reshid's
half -closed eyes. From under his feet arose the dull
hum of insects in the long grass of the courtyard.
He looked on sleepily.

From one of the side paths amongst the houses
a woman stepped out on the road, a slight girlish
figure walking under the shade of a large tray bal-
anced on its head. The consciousness of something
moving stirred Reshid's half -sleeping senses into a
comparative wakefulness. He recognised Taminah,
Bulangi's slave-girl, with her tray of cakes for sale
— an apparition of daily recurrence and of no impor-
tance whatever. She was going towards Almayer's
house. She could be made useful. He roused him-
self up and ran towards the gate, calling out, " Tami-
nah O ! " The girl stopped, hesitated, and came
back slowly. Reshid waited, signing to her impa-
tiently to come nearer.

When near Reshid Taminah waited with down-

144 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

cast eyes. Resliid looked at her awhile before he
asked —

" Are you going to Almayer's house ? They say
in the settlement that Dain the trader, he that was
found drowned this morning, is lying in the white
man's campong."

"I have heard this talk," whispered Taminah;
" and this morning by the riverside I saw the body.
Where it is now I do not know."

" So you have seen it ? " asked Reshid, eagerly.
"Is it Dain?"

"You have seen him many times. You would
know him."

The girl's lips quivered and she remained silent
for a while, breathing quickly,

" I have seen him, not a long time ago," she said
at last. " The talk is true ; he is dead. What do
you want from me, Tuan? I must go."

Just then the report of the gun fired on board the
steam launch was heard interrupting Reshid's reply.
Leaving the girl he ran to the house, and met in the
courtyard Abdulla coming towards the gate.

" The Orang Blanda are come, " said Reshid, " and
now we shall have our reward."

Abdulla shook his head doubtfully. " The white
men's rewards are long in coming," he said. " White
men are quick in anger and slow in gratitude. We
shall see."

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 146

He stood at the gate stroking his grey beard and
listening to the distant cries of greeting at the other
end of the settlement. As Taminah was turning to
go he called her back.

"Listen, girl," he said: "there will be many white
men in Almayer's house. You shall be there sell-
ing your cakes to the men of the sea. What you
see and what you hear you may tell me. Come
here before the sun sets and I will give you a blue
handkerchief with red spots. Now go, and forget
not to return."

He gave her a push with the end of his long
staff as she was going away and made her stumble.

" This slave is very slow," he remarked to his
nephew, looking after the girl with great disfavour.

Taminah walked on, her tray on the head, her
eyes fixed on the ground. From the open doors
of the houses were heard, as she passed, friendly
calls inviting her within for business purposes, but
she never heeded them, neglecting her sales in the
preoccupation of intense thinking. Since the very
early morning she had heard much, she had also
seen much that filled her heart with a joy mingled
with great suffering and fear. Before the dawn,
before she left Bulangi's house to paddle up to
Sambir she had heard voices outside the house
when all in it but herself were asleep. And now,
with her knowledge of the words spoken in the

146 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

darkness, she held in her hand a life and carried
in her breast a great sorrow. Yet from her springy
step, erect figure, and face veiled over by the every-
day look of apathetic indifference, nobody could
have guessed of the double load she carried under
the visible burden of the tray piled up high
with cakes manufactured by the thrifty hands of
Bulangi's wives. In that supple figure straight as
an arrow, so graceful and free in its walk, behind
those soft eyes that spoke of nothing but of uncon-
scious resignation, there slept all feelings and all
passions, all hopes and all fears, the curse of life
and the consolation of death. And she knew noth-
ing of it all. She lived like the tall palms amongst
whom she was passing now, seeking the light, desir-
ing the sunshine, fearing the storm, unconscious
of either. The slave had no hope, and knew of
no change. She knew of no other sky, no other
water, no other forest, no other world, no other life.
She had no wish, no hope, no love, no fear except
of a blow, and no vivid feeling but that of occa-
sional hunger, which was seldom, for Bulangi was
rich, and rice was plentiful in the solitary house in
his clearing. The absence of pain and hunger was
her happiness, and when she felt unhappy she was
simply tired, more than usual, after the day's labour.
Then in the hot nights of the south-west monsoon
she slept dreamlessly under the bright stars on the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 147

platform built outside the house and over the river.
Inside they slept too : Bulangi by the door ; his
wives further in ; the children with their mothers.
She could hear their breathing ; Bulangi's sleepy
voice ; the sharp cry of a child soon hushed with
tender words. And she closed her eyes to the mur-
mur of the water below her, to the whisper of the
warm wind above, ignorant of the never-ceasing
life of that tropical nature that spoke to her in
vain with the thousand faint voices of the near
forest, with the breath of tepid wind; in the heavy
scents that lingered round her head; in the white
wraiths of morning mist that hung over her in the
solemn hush of all creation before the dawn.

Such had been her existence before the coming
of the brig with the strangers. She remembered
well that time ; the uproar in the settlement, the
never-ending wonder, the days and nights of talk
and excitement. She remembered her own timidity
with the strange men, till the brig moored to the
bank became in a manner part of the settlement,
and the fear wore off in the familiarity of constant
intercourse. The call on board then became part
of her daily round. She walked hesitatingly up
the slanting planks of the gangway amidst the
encouraging shouts and more or less decent jokes
of the men idling over the bulwarks. There she
sold her wares to those men that spoke so loud and

148 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

carried themselves so free. There was a throng, a
constant coming and going ; calls interchanged,
orders given and executed with shouts ; the rattle
of blocks, the flinging about of coils of rope. She
sat out of the way under the shade of the awning,
with her tray before her, the veil drawn well over
her face, feeling shy amongst so many men. She
smiled at all buyers, but spoke to none, letting
their jests pass with stolid unconcern. She heard
many tales told around her of far-off countries, of
strange customs, of events stranger still. Those
men were brave; but the most fearless of them
spoke of their chief with fear. Often the man
they called their master passed before her, walking-
erect and indifferent in the pride of youth, in the
flash of rich dress, with a tinkle of gold ornaments,
while everybody stood aside watching anxiously for
a movement of his lips, ready to do his bidding.
Then all her life seemed to rush into her eyes, and
from under her veil she gazed at him, charmed, yet
fearful to attract attention. One day he noticed
her and asked, " Who is that girl ? " "A slave,
Tuan ! A girl that sells cakes," a dozen voices
replied together. She rose in terror to run on
shore, when he called her back ; and as she stood
trembling with head hung down before him, he
spoke kind words, lifting her chin with his hand
and looking into her eyes with a smile. " Do not

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 149

be afraid," he said. He never spoke to her any
more. Somebody called out from the river bank;
he turned away and forgot her existence. Taminah
saw Almayer standing on the shore with Nina on
his arm. She heard Nina's voice calling out gaily,
and saw Dain's face brighten with joy as he leaped
on shore. She hated the sound of that voice ever
since.

After that day she left off visiting Almayer's
compound, and passed the noon hours under the
shade of the brig awning. She watched for his
coming with heart beating quicker and quicker, as
he approached, into a wild tumult of newly-aroused
feelings of joy and hope and fear that died away
with Dain's retreatmg figure, leaving her tired out,
as if after a struggle, sitting still for a long time in
dreamy languor. Then she paddled home slowly
in the afternoon, often letting her canoe float with
the lazy stream in the quiet backwater of the river.
The paddle hung idle in the water as she sat in
the stern, one hand supporting her chin, her eyes
wide open, listening intently to the whispering of
her heart that seemed to swell at last into a song
of extreme sweetness. Listening to that song she
husked the rice at home; it dulled her ears to the
shrill bickerings of Bulangi's wives, to the sound of
angry reproaches addressed to herself. And when
the sun was near its setting she walked to the

150 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

bathing-place and heard it as she stood on the
tender grass of the low bank, her robe at her feet,
and looked at the reflection of her figure on the
glass-like surface of the creek. Listening to it she
walked slowly back, her wet hair hanging over her
shoulders ; lying down to rest under the bright
stars, she closed her eyes to the murmur of the
water below, of the warm wind above ; to the voice
of nature speaking through the faint noises of the
great forest, and to the song of her own heart.

She heard, but did not understand, and drank in
the dreamy joy of her new existence without troub-
ling about its meaning or its end, till the full con-
sciousness of life came to her through pain and
anger. And she suffered horribly the first time
she saw Nina's long canoe drift silently past the
sleeping house of Bulangi, bearing the two lovers
into the white mist of the great river. Her jealousy
and rage culminated into a paroxysm of physical
pain that left her lying panting on the river bank,
in the dumb agony of a wounded animal. But she
went on moving patiently in the enchanted circle
of slavery, going through her task day after day
with all the pathos of the grief she could not ex-
press, even to herself, locked within her breast.
She shrank from Nina as she would have shrunk
from the sharp blade of a knife cutting into her
flesh, but she kept on visiting the brig to feed her

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 151

dumb, ignorant soul on her own despair. She saw
Dain many times. He never spoke, he never looked.
Could his eyes see only one woman's image ? Could
his ears hear only one woman's voice? He never
noticed her ; not once.

And then he went away. She saw him and Nina
for the last time on that morning when Babalatchi,
while visiting his fish baskets, had his suspicions of
the white man's daughter's love affair with Dain
confirmed beyond the shadow of doubt. Dain dis-
appeared, and Taminah's heart, where lay useless
and barren the seeds of all love and of all hate, the
possibilities of all passions and of all sacrifices,
forgot its joys and its sufferings when deprived
of the help of the senses. Her half -formed, savage
mind, the slave of her body — as her body was
the slave of another's will — forgot the faint and
vague image of the ideal that had found its begin-
ning in the physical promptings of her savage
nature. She dropped back into the torpor of her
former life and found consolation — even a certain
kind of happiness — in the thought that now Nina
and Dain were separated, probably for ever. He
would forget. This thought soothed the last pangs
of dying jealousy that had nothing now to feed
upon, and Taminah found peace. It was like the
dreary tranquillit}* of a desert, where there is
peace only because there is no life.

152 ALMAYER'S H)1,LY.

And now he had returned. Slie had recognised
his voice calling aloud in the night for Bulangi.
She had crept out after her master to listen closer
to the intoxicating sound. Dain was there, in a
boat, talking to Bulangi. Taminah, listening with
arrested breath, heard another voice. The mad-
dening joy, that only a second before she thought
herself incapable of containing within her fast-
beating heart, died out, and left her shivering in
the old anguish of physical pain that she had suf-
fered once before at the sight of Dain and Nina.
Nina spoke now, ordering and entreating in turns,
and Bulangi was refusing, expostulating, at last
consenting. He went in to take a paddle from
the heap lying behind the door. Outside the
murmur of two voices went on, and she caught a
word here and there. She understood that he was
fleeing from white men, that he was seeking a
hiding place, that he was in some danger. But
she heard also words which woke the rage of
jealousy that had been asleep for so many days in
her bosom. Crouching low on the mud in the
black darkness amongst the piles, she heard the
whisper in the boat that made light of toil, of
privation, of danger, of life itself, if in exchange
there could be but a short moment of close
embrace, a look from the eyes, the feel of light
breath, the touch of soft lips. So spoke Dain as

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 153

he sat in the canoe holding Nina's hands while
waiting for Bulangi's return; and Taminah, sup-
porting herself by the slimy pile, felt as if a heavy
weight was crushing her down, down into the
black oily water at her feet. She wanted to cry
out ; to rush at them and tear their vague shadows
apart ; to throw Nina into the smooth water, cling
to her close, hold her to the bottom where that
man could not find her. She could not cry, she
could not move. Then footsteps were heard on
the bamboo platform above her head; she saw
Bulangi get into his smallest canoe and take the
lead, the other boat following, paddled by Dain
and Nina. With a slight splash of the paddles
dipped stealthily into the water, their indistinct
forms passed l)efore her aching eyes and vanished
in the darkness of the creek.

She remained there in the cold and wet, powerless
to move, breathing painfully under the crushing
weight that the mysterious hand of Fate had laid so
suddenly upon her slender shoulders, and shivering,
she felt within a burning fire, that seemed to feed
upon her very life. When the breaking day had
spread a pale golden ribbon over the black outline
of the forests, she took up her tray and departed
towards the settlement, going about her task purel}-
from the force of habit. As she approached Sambir
she could see tlie excitement and she heard witli

154 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

momentary surprise of the finding of Dain's body.
It was not true, of course she knew it well. She
regretted that he was not dead. She should have
liked Dain to be dead, so as to be parted from that
woman — from all women. She felt a strong desire
to see Nina, but without any clear object. Slie
hated her, and feared her, and she felt an irresistible
impulse pushing her towards Almayer's house to see
the white woman's face, to look close at those eyes,
to hear again that voice, for the sound of which
Dain was ready to risk his liberty, his life even.
She had seen her many times ; she had heard her
voice daily for many months past. What was there
in her ? What was there in that being to make a
man speak as Dain had spoken, to make him blind
to all other faces, deaf to all other voices?

She left the crowd by the riverside, and wandered
aimlessly among the empty houses, resisting the
impulse that pushed her towards Almayer's cam-
pong to seek there in Nina's eyes the secret of her
own misery. The sun, mounting higher, shortened
the shadows and poured down upon her a flood of
light and of stifling heat as she passed on from
shadow to light, from light to shadow, amongst the
houses, the bushes, the tall trees, in her unconscious
flight from the pain in her own heart. In the
extremity of her distress she could find no words
to pray for relief, she knew of no heaven to send

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 156

her prayer to, and she wandered on with tired feet
in the dumb surprise and terror at the injustice of
the suffering inflicted upon her without cause and
without redress.

The short talk with Reshid, the proposal of Ab-
dulla steadied her a little and turned her thoughts into
another channel. Dain was in some danger. He
was hiding from white men. So much she had over-
heard last night. They all thought him dead. She
knew he was alive, and she knew of his hiding place.
What did the Arabs want to know about the white
men? The white men want with Dain? Did they
wish to kill him ? She could tell them all — no, she
would say nothing, and in the night she would go to
him and sell him his life for a word, for a smile, for
a gesture even, and be his slave in far-off countries,
away from Nina. But there Avere dangers. The
one-eyed Babalatchi who knew everything; the
white man's wife — she was a witch. Perhaps they
would tell. And then there was Nina. She must
hurry on and see.

In her impatience she left the path and ran
towards Almayer's dwelling through the under-
growth between the palm trees. She came out at
the back of the house, where a narrow ditch, full
of stagnant water that overflowed from the river,
separated Almayer's campong from the rest of the
settlement. The thick bushes growing on the bank

156 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

were hiding from her sight the hirge courtyard with
its cooking shed. Above them rose several thin
columns of smoke, and from behind the sound of
strange voices informed Taminah that the Men of
the Sea belonging to the warship had already landed
and were camped between the ditch and the house.
To the left one of Almayer's slave-girls came down
to the ditch and, bent over the shiny water, was
washing a kettle. To the right the tops of the
banana plantation, visible above the bushes, swayed
and shook under the touch of invisible hands gather-
ing the fruit. On the calm water several canoes
moored to a heavy stake were crowded together,
nearly bridging the ditch just at the place where
Taminah stood. The voices in the courtyard rose
at times into an outburst of calls, replies, and
laughter, and then died away into a silence that
soon was broken again by a fresh clamour. Now
and again the thin blue smoke rushed out thicker
and blacker, and drove in odorous masses over the
creek, wrapping her for a moment in a suffocating
veil; then, as the fresh wood caught well alight,
the smoke vanished in the bright sunlight, and only
the scent of aromatic wood drifted afar, to leeward
of the crackling fires.

Taminah rested her tray on a stump of a tree,
and remained standing with her eyes turned towards
Almayer's house, whose roof and part of a white-

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 157

washed wall were visible over the bushes. The
slave-girl finished her work, and after looking for a
while curiously at Taminah, pushed her way through
the dense thicket back to the courtyard. Round
Taminah there was now a complete solitude. She
threw herself down on the ground, and hid her
face in her hands. Now when so close she had no
courage to see Nina. At every burst of louder
voices from the courtyard she shivered in the fear
of hearing Nina's voice. She came to the resolu-
tion of waiting where she was till dark, and then
going straight to Dain's hiding place. From where
she was she could watch the movements of white
men, of Nina, of all Dain's friends, and of all his
enemies. Both were hateful alike to her, for both
would take him away beyond her reach. She hid
herself in the long grass to wait anxiously for the
sunset that seemed so slow to come.

On the other side of the ditch, behind the bush,
by the clear fires, the seamen of the frigate had
encamped on the hospitable invitation of Almayer.
Almayer, roused out of his apathy by the prayers
and importunity of Nina, had managed to get down
in time to the jetty so as to receive the officers at
their landing. The lieutenant in command accepted
his invitation to his house with the remark that in
any case their business was with Almayer — and
perhaps not very pleasant, he added. Almayer

158 ALMAYER'S FOLLY

hardly heard him. He shook hands with them
absently and led the way towards the house. He
was scarcely conscious of the polite words of wel-
come he greeted the strangers with, and afterwards
repeated several times over again in his efforts to
appear at ease. The agitation of their host did not
escape the officer's eyes, and the chief confided to
his subordinate, in a low voice, his doubts as to Al-
mayer's sobriety. The young sub-lieutenant laughed
and expressed in a whisper the hope that the white
man was not intoxicated enough to neglect the offer
of some refreshments. " He does not seem very
dangerous," he added, as they followed Almayer up
the steps of the verandah.

" No, he seems more of a fool than a knave ; I
have heard of him," returned the senior.

They sat around the table. Almayer with shaking
hands made gin cocktails, offered them all round,
and drank himself, with every gulp feeling stronger,
steadier, and better able to face all the difficulties of
his position. Ignorant of the fate of the brig he did
not suspect the real object of the officer's visit. He
had a general notion that something must have leaked
out about the gunpowder trade, but apprehended
nothing beyond some temporary inconvenience.
After emptying his glass he began to chat easily,
lying back in his chair with one of his legs thrown
negligently over the arm. The lieutenant astride on

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 169

his chair, a glowing cheroot in the corner of his
mouth, listened with a sly smile from behind the
thick volumes of smoke that escaped from his com-
pressed lips. The young sub-lieutenant, leaning
with both elbows on the table, his head between his
hands, looked on sleepily in the torpor induced by
fatigue and the gin. Almayer talked on —

"• It is a great pleasure to see white faces here. I
have lived here many years in great solitude. The
Malays, you understand, are not company for a white
man ; moreover they are not friendly; they do not
understand our ways. Great rascals they are. I
believe I am the only white man on the east coast
that is a settled resident. We get visitors from
Macassar or Singapore sometimes — traders, agents,
or explorers, but they are rare. There was a scien-
tific explorer here a year or more ago. He lived in
my house : drank from morning to night. He lived
joyously for a few months, and Avhen the liquor he
brought with him was gone he returned to Batavia
with a report on the mineral wealth of the interior.
Ha, ha, ha! Good, is it not?"

He ceased abruptly and looked at his guests with
a meaningless stare. While they laughed he was
reciting to himself the old story : "■ Dain dead, all
my plans destroyed. This is the end of all hope
and of all things." His heart sank within him.
He felt a kind of deadly sickness.

160 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

" Very good. Capital ! " exclaimed both ofl&cers.

Alraayer came out of his despondency with
■another burst of talk.

"Eh! what about the dinner? You have got a
cook with you. That's all right. There is a cook-
ing shed in the other courtyard. I can give you a
goose. Look at my geese — the only geese on the
east coast — perhaps on the whole island. Is that
your cook ? Very good. Here, Ali, show this
Chinaman the cooking place and tell Mem Almayer
to let him have room there. My wife, gentle-
men, does not come out ; my daughter may. Mean-
time have some more drink. It is a hot day."

The lieutenant took the cigar out of his mouth,
looked at the ash critically, shook it off and turned
towards Almayer.

" We have a rather unpleasant business with you,"
he said.

" I am sorry," returned Almayer. " It can be
nothing very serious, surely."

" If you think an attempt to blow up forty men
at least not a serious matter, you will not find
many people of your opinion," retorted the officer,
sharply.

" Blow up ! What ? I know nothing about it,"
exclaimed Almayer. "Who did that, or tried to
do it?"

*' A man with whom you had some dealings,"

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 161

answered the lieutenant. " He passed here under
the name of Dain Maroola. You sold him the
gunpowder he had in that brig we captured."

" How did you hear about the brig ? " asked
Almayer. "I know nothing about the powder he
may have had."

" An Arab trader of this place has sent the infor-
mation about your goings on here to Batavia, a
couple of months ago," said the officer. "We were
waiting for the brig outside, but he slipped past us
at the mouth of the river, and we had to chase the
fellow to the southward. When he sighted us he
ran inside the reefs and put the brig ashore. The
crew escaped in boats before we could take posses-
sion. As our boats neared the craft it blew up
with a tremendous explosion ; one of the boats be-
ing too near got swamped. Two men drowned —
that is the result of your speculation, Mr. Almayer.
Now we want this Dain. We have good grounds
to suppose he is hiding in Sambir. Do you know
where he is ? You had better put yourself right
with the authorities as much as possible by being
perfectly frank with me. Where is this Dain? "

Almayer got up and walked towards the balus-
trade of the verandah. He seemed not to be
thinking of the officer's question. He looked at
the body lying straight and rigid under its white
cover, on which the sun, declining amongst the

M

162 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

clouds to the westward, threw a pale tinge of red.
The lieutenant waited for the answer, taking quick
pulls at his half-extinguished cigar. Behind them
Ali moved noiselessly laying the table, ranging
solemnly the ill-assorted and shabby crockery, the
tin spoons, the forks with broken prongs, and the
knives with saw-like blades and loose handles. He
had almost forgotten how to prepare the table for
white men. He felt aggrieved ; Mem Nina would
not help him. He stepped back to look at his
work admiringly, feeling very proud. This must
be right ; and if the master afterwards is angry
and swears, then so much the worse for Mem Nina.
Why did she not help ? He left the verandah to
fetch the dinner.

" Well, Mr. Almayer, will you answer my ques-
tion as frankly as it is put to you ? " asked the lieu-
tenant, after a long silence.

Almayer turned round and looked at his inter-
locutor steadily. " If you catch this Dain, what will
you do with him ? " he asked.

The officer's face flushed. •' This is not an
answer," he said, annoyed.

"' And what will you do with me ? " went on
Almayer, not heeding the interruption.

'' Are you inclined to bargain ? " growled the
other. " It would be bad policy, I assure you.
At present I have no orders about your person,

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 163

but we expected your assistance in catching this
Malay."

" Ah ! " interrupted Almayer, " just so : you can
do nothing without me, and I, knowing the man
well, am to help you in catching him."

" This is exactly what we expect," assented the
officer. " You have broken the law, Mr. Almayer,
and you ought to make amends."

" And save myself ? "

*' Well, in a sense yes. Your head is not in any
danger," said the lieutenant, with a short laugh.

"• Very well," said Almayer, with decision, '' I shall
deliver the man up to you."

Both officers rose to their feet quickly, and looked
for their side-arms, which they had unbuckled.
Almayer laughed harshly.

" Steady, gentlemen ! " he exclaimed. '* In my
own time and in my own way. After dinner, gen-
tlemen, you shall have him."

" This is preposterous," urged the lieutenant.
'*■ Mr. Almayer, this is no joking matter. The man
is a criminal. He deserves to hang. While we
dine he may escape ; the rumour of our arrival "

Almayer walked towards the table. " I give you
my word of honour, gentlemen, that he shall not
escape ; I have him safe enough."

"•The arrest shall be effected before dark," re-
marked the young sub.

]M ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

" I shall hold you responsible for any failure. We
are ready, but can do nothing just now without
you," added the senior, with evident annoyance.

Almayer made a gesture of assent. " On my word
of honour," he repeated vaguely. " And now let us
dine," he added briskly.

Nina came through the doorway and stood for a
moment holding the curtain aside for Ali and the
old Malay woman bearing the dishes; then she moved
towards the three men by the table.

" Allow me," said Almayer, pompously. " This is
my daughter. Nina, these gentlemen, officers of the
frigate outside, have done me the honour to accept
my hospitality."

Nina answered the low bows of the two officers by
a slow inclination of the head and took her place at
the table opposite her father. All sat down. The
coxswain of the steam launch came up carrying some
bottles of wine.

" You will allow me to have this put upon the
table ? " said the lieutenant to Almayer.

" What ! Wine ! You are very kind. Certainly.
I have none myself. Times are very hard."

The last words of his reply were spoken by
Almayer in a faltering voice. The thought that
Dain was dead recurred to him vividly again, and
he felt as if an invisible hand was gripping his throat.
He reached for the gin bottle while they were uncork-

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 165

ing the wine and swallowed a big gulp. The lieu-
tenant, who was speaking to Nina, gave him a quick
glance. The young sub began to recover from the
astonishment and confusion caused by Nina's unex-
pected appearance and great beauty. " She was very
beautiful and imposing," he reflected, "but after all
a half-caste girl." This thought caused him to pluck
up heart and look at Nina sideways. Nina, with
composed face, was answering in a low, even voice
the elder officer's polite questions as to the country
and her mode of life. Almayer pushed his plate
away and drank his guest's wine in gloomy silence.

CHAPTER IX.

"Can I believe what you tell me? It is like
a tale for men that listen only half awake by the
camp fire, and it seems to have run off a woman's
tongue."

" Who is there here for me to deceive, O Rajah ? "
answered Babalatchi. "Without you I am nothing.
All I have told you I believe to be true. I have
been safe for many years in the hollow of your
hand. This is no time to harbour suspicions. The
danger is very great. We should advise and act at
once, before the sun sets."

"Right. Right," muttered Lakamba, pensively.

They had been sitting for the last hour together
in the audience chamber of the Rajah's house, for
Babalatchi, as soon as he had witnessed the landing
of the Dutch officers, had crossed the river to report
to his master the events of the morning, and to
confer with him upon the line of conduct to pursue
in the face of altered circumstances. They were
both puzzled and frightened by the unexpected turn
the events had taken. The Rajah, sitting cross-

106

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 167

legged on his chair, looked fixedly at the floor;
Babalatchi was squatting close by in an attitude of
deep dejection.

"And where did you say he is hiding now?"
asked Lakamba, breaking at last the silence, full of
gloomy forebodings, in which they both had been
lost for a long while.

"In Bulangi's clearing — the furthest one, away
from the house. They went there that very night.
The white man's daughter took him there. She
told me so herself, speaking to me openl}-, for she is
half white and has no decency. She said she was
waiting for him while he was here; then, after a
long time, he came out of the darkness and fell at
her feet exhausted. He lay like one dead, but she
brought him back to life in her arms, and made him
breathe again with her own breath. That is what she
said, speaking to my face, as I am speaking now to
you. Rajah. She is like a white woman and knows
no shame."

He paused, deeply shocked. Lakamba nodded
his head. "Well, and then?" he asked.

"They called the old woman," went on Baba-
latchi, " and he told them all — about the brig, and
how he tried to kill many men. He knew the Orang
Blanda were very near, although he had said noth-
ing to us about that; he knew his great danger. He
thought he had killed many, but there were only

168 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

two dead, as I have heard from the men of the sea
that came in the warship's boats."

"And the other man, he that was found in the
river?" interrupted Lakamba.

" That was one of his boatmen. When his canoe
was overturned by the logs those two swam together,
but the other man must have been hurt. Dain
swam, holding him up. He left him in the bushes
when he went up to the house. When they all
came down his heart had ceased to beat; then the
old woman spoke ; Dain thought it was good. He
took off his anklet and broke it, twisting it round
the man's foot. His ring he put on that slave's
hand. He took off his sarong and clothed that thing
that wanted no clothes, the two women holding it
up meanwhile, their intent being to deceive all eyes
and to mislead the minds in the settlement, so that
they could swear to the thing that was not, and that
there could be no treachery when the white men
came. Then Dain and the white woman departed
to call up Bulangi and find a hiding place. The
old woman remained by the body."

"Hai!" exclaimed Lakamba. "She has wis-
dom."

"Yes, she has a Devil of her own to whisper
counsel in her ear," assented Babalatchi. "She
dragged the body with great toil to the point where
many logs were stranded. All these things were

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 169

done in the darkness after the storm had passed
away. Then she waited. At the first sign of day-
light she battered the face of the dead with a heavy
stone, and she pushed him amongst the logs. She
remained near, watching. At sunrise Mahmat
Banjer came and found him. They all believed;
I myself was deceived, but not for long. The white
man believed, and, grieving, fled to his house.
When we were alone I, having doubts, spoke to the
woman, and she, fearing my anger and your might,
told me all, asking for help in saving Dain."

""He must not fall in the hands of the Orang
Blanda," said Lakamba; "but let him die, if the
thing can be done quietly."

"It cannot, Tuan! Remember there is that
woman, who, being half white, is ungovernable,
and would raise a great outcry. Also the officers
are here. They are angry enough already. Dain
must escape ; he must go. We must help him now
for our own safety."

" Are the officers very angry ? " inquired Lakamba,
with interest.

"They are. The principal chief used strong
words when speaking to me — to me when I salaamed
in your name. I do not think," added Babalatchi,
after a short pause and looking very worried — " I
do not think I saw a white chief so angry before.
He said we were careless or even worse. He told

170 ALMAYER'S FOLIA.

nie he would speak to the Rajah, and that I was of
no account."

" Speak to the Rajah ! " repeated Lakamba,
thoughtfully. "Listen, Babalatchi: I am sick, and
shall withdraw; you cross over and tell the white
men."

"Yes, "said Babalatchi, "I am going over at once;
and as to Dain ? "

" You get him away as you can best. This is a
great trouble in my heart," sighed Lakamba.

Babalatchi got up, and, going close to his master,
spoke earnestly.

" There is one of our praus at the southern mouth
of the river. The Dutch warship is to the north-
ward watching the main entrance. I shall send
Dain off to-night in a canoe, by the hidden channels,
on board the prau. His father is a great prince,
and shall hear of our generosity. Let the prau take
him to Ampanam. Your glory shall be great, and
your reward in powerful friendship. Almayer will
no doubt deliver the dead body as Dain's to the
officers, and the foolish white men shall say, 'This
is very good ; let there be peace. ' And the trouble
shall be removed from your heart. Rajah."

"True! true!" said Lakamba.

" And, this being accomplished by me who am
your slave, you shall reward with a generous hand.
That I know! The white man is grieving for the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 171

lost treasure, in the manner of white men who thirst
after dollars. Now, when ail other things are in
order, we shall perhaps obtain the treasure from the
white man. Dain must escape, and Almayer must
live."

"Now go, Babalatchi, go! " said Lakaraba, getting
off his chair. " I am very sick, and want medicine.
Tell the white chief so."

But Babalatchi was not to be got rid of in this
summary manner. He knew that his master, after
the manner of the great, liked to shift the burden of
toil and danger on to his servants' shoulders, but in
the difficult straits in which they were now the
Rajah must play his part. He may be very sick for
the white men, for all the world if he liked, as long
as he would take upon himself the execution of part
at least of Babalatchi 's carefully thought-of plan.
Babalatchi wanted a big canoe manned by twelve
men to be sent out after dark towards Bulangi's
clearing. Dain may have to be overpowered. A
man in love cannot be expected to see clearly the
path of safety if it leads him away from the object
of his affections, argued Babalatchi, and in that case
they \/oald have to use force in order to make him
go. Would the Rajah see that trusty men manned
the canoe ? The thing must be done secretly. Per-
haps the Rajah would come himself, so as to bring
all the weight of his authority to bear upon Dain if

172 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

he should prove obstinate and refuse to leave his
hiding place. The Rajah would not commit himself
to a definite promise, and anxiously pressed Baba-
latchi to go, being afraid of the white men paying
him an unexpected visit. The aged statesman
reluctantly took his leave and went into the court-
yard.

Before going down to his boat Babalatchi stopped
for a while in the big open space where the thick-
leaved trees put black patches of shadow which
seemed to float on a flood of smooth, intense light
that rolled up to the houses and down to the stock-
ade and over the river, where it broke and sparkled
in thousands of glittering wavelets, like a band
woven of azure and gold edged with the brilliant
green of the forests guarding both banks of the
Pantai. In the perfect calm before the coming of
the afternoon breeze the irregularly jagged line of
tree-tops stood unchanging, as if traced by an un-
steady hand on the clear blue of the hot sky. In
the space sheltered by the high palisades there
lingered the smell of decaying blossoms from the
surrounding forest; a taint of drying fish, with now
and then a whiff of acrid smoke from the cooking
fires when it eddied down from under the leafy
boughs and clung lazily about the burnt-up grass.

As Babalatchi looked up at the flagstaff overtop-
ping a group of low trees in the middle of the

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 173

courtyard, the tricolour flag of the Netherlands
stirred slightly for the first time since it had been
hoisted that morning on the arrival of the man-of-
war boats. With a faint rustle of trees the breeze
came down in light puffs, playing capriciously for a
time around this emblem of Lakamba's power, that
was also the mark of his servitude ; then the breeze
freshened in a sharp gust of wind, and the flag flew
out straight and steady above the trees. A dark
shadow ran along the river, rolling over and cover-
ing up the sparkle of declining sunlight. A big
white cloud sailed slowly across the darkening sky,
and hung to the westward as if waiting for the sun
to join it there. Men and things shook ofl:" the
torpor of the noontide heat and stirred into life
under the first breath of the sea breeze.

Babalatchi hurried down to the water-gate; yet
before he passed through it he paused to look round
the courtyard, with its light and shade, with its
cheery fires, with the groups of Lakamba's soldiers
and retainers scattered about. His own house stood
amongst the other buildings in that enclosure, and
the f-'Lttcesman of SamHr asked himself with a sink-
ing heart when and how would it be given him to
return to that house. He had to deal with a man
more dangerous than au}^ wild beast of his experi-
ence; a proud man, a man wilful after the manner
of princes, a man in love. And he was going forth

174 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

to speak to that man words of cold and worldly
wisdom. Could anything be more appalling?
What if that man should take umbrage at some
fancied slight to his honour or disregard of his affec-
tions and suddenly "amok"? The wise adviser
would be the first victim, no doubt, and death would
be his reward. And underlying the horror of this
situation there was the danger of those meddle-
some fools, the white men. A vision of comfortless
exile in far-off Madura rose up before Babalatchi.
Wouldn't that be worse than death itself? And
there was that half-white woman with threatening-
eyes. How could he tell what an incomprehensible
creature of that sort would or would not do ? She
knew so much that she made the killing of Dain an
impossibility. That much was certain. And yet
tlie sharp, rough-edged kriss is a good and discreet
friend, thought Babalatchi, as he examined his own
lovingly, and put it back in the sheath with a sigh
of regret before unfastening his canoe. As he cast
off the painter, pushed out into the stream, and took
up his paddle, he realised vividly how unsatisfactory
it was to have women mixed up in state affairs.
Young women, of course. For Mrs. Almayer's ma-
ture wisdom, and for the easy aptitude in intrigue
that comes with years to the feminine mind, he felt
the most sincere respect.

He paddled leisurely, letting the canoe drift down

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 175

as he crossed towards the point. The sun was high
yet, and nothing pressed. His work would com-
mence only with the coming of darkness. Avoiding
the Lingard jetty, he rounded the point, and paddled
up the creek at the back of Almayer's house. Thei'e
were many canoes lying there, their noses all drawn
together, fastened all to the same stake. Babalatcl)i
pushed his little craft in amongst them and stepped
on shore. On the other side of the ditch something
moved in the grass.

" Who's that hiding ? " hailed Babalatchi. " Come
out and speak to me."

Nobody answered. Babalatchi crossed over, pass-
ing from boat to boat, and poked his staff viciously
in the suspicious place. Taminah jumped up with
a cry.

" What are you doing here ? " he asked, surprised.
" I have nearly stepped on your tray. Am I a Dyak
that you should hide at my sight?"

" I was weary, and — I slept, " whispered Taminah,
confusedly.

" You slept ! You have not sold anything to-day,
a,xA you shall be beaten when you return home,"
said Babalatchi.

Taminah stood before him abashed and silent.
Babalatchi looked her over carefully with great sat-
isfaction. Decidedly he would offer fifty dollars
more to that thief Bulangi. The girl pleased him.

176 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

"Now you go home. It is late," he said sharply.
" Tell Bulangi that I shall be near his house before
the night is half over, and that I want him to make
all things ready for a long journey. You under-
stand? A long journey to the southward. Tell
him that before sunset, and do not forget my
words."

Taminah made a gesture of assent, and watched
Babalatchi recross the ditch and disappear through
the bushes bordering Almayer's compound. She
moved a little further off the creek and sank in the
grass again, lying down on her face, shivering in
dry-eyed misery.

Babalatchi walked straight towards the cooking
shed, looking for Mrs. Almayer. The courtyard
was in a great uproar. A strange Chinaman had
possession of the kitchen fire and was noisily de-
manding another saucepan. He hurled objurga-
tions, in the Canton dialect and bad Malay, against
the group of slave-girls standing a little way off,
half frightened, half amused, at his violence. From
the camping fires round which the seamen of the
frigate were sitting came words of encouragement,
mingled with laughter and jeering. In the midst
of this noise and confusion Babalatchi met Ali, an
empty dish in his hand.

"Where are the white men?" asked Babalatchi.

"They are eating in the front verandah," an-

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 177

swered Ali. ''Do not stop me, Tuan. I am giving
the white men their food and am busy."

"Where's Mem Almayer?"

"Inside in the passage. She is listening to the
talk."

Ali grinned and passed on; Babalatchi ascended
the plankway to the rear verandah, and beckoning
out Mrs. Almayer, engaged her in earnest conver-
sation. Through the long passage, closed at the
further end by the red curtain, they could hear from
time to time Almayer's voice mingling in conver-
sation with an abrupt loudness that made Mrs.
Almayer look significantly at Babalatchi.

"Listen," she said. "He has drunk much."

"He has," whispered Babalatchi. " He will sleep
heavily to-night."

Mrs. Almayer looked doubtful.

"Sometimes the devil of strong gin makes him
keep awake, and he walks up and down the veran-
dah all night, cursing; then we stand afar off,"
explained Mrs. Almayer, with the fuller knowledge
born of twenty odd years of mamed life.

'" But then he does not hear, nor understand, and
his hand, of course, has no strength. We do not
want him to hear to-night."

"No," assented Mrs. Almayer, energetically, but
in a cautiously subdued voice. "H he hears he
will kill."

178 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

Babalatchi looked incredulous.

"Hai Tuan, you may believe me. Have I not
lived many years with that man ? Have I not seen
death in that man's eyes more than once when I was
younger and he guessed at many things ? Had he
been a man of my own race I would not have seen
such a look twice ; but he "

With a contemptuous gesture she seemed to fling
unutterable scorn on Almayer's weak-minded aver-
sion to sudden bloodshed.

"If he has the wish but not the strength, then
what do we fear?" asked Babalatchi, after a short
silence, during which they both listened to Al-
mayer's loud talk till it subsided into the murmur
of general conversation. "What do we fear?" re-
peated Babalatchi again.

" To keep the daughter whom he loves he would
strike into your heart and mine without hesitation,"
said Mrs. Almayer. "When the girl is gone he
will be like the devil unchained. Then you and I
had better beware."

"I am an old man and fear not death," answered
Babalatchi, with a mendacious assumption of in-
difference. "But what will you do?"

"I am an old woman, and wish to live," retorted
Mrs. Almayer. " She is my daughter also. I shall
seek safety at the feet of our Rajah, speaking in the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 179

name of the past when we both were young, and
he "

Babalatchi raised his hand.

" Enough. You shall be protected," he said sooth-
ingly.

Again the sound of Almayer's voice was heard,
and again interrupting their talk, they listened to
the confused but loud utterance coming in bursts of
unequal strength, with unexpected pauses and noisy
repetitions that made some words and sentences fall
clear and distinct on their ears out of the meaning-
less jumble of excited shoutings emphasised by the
thumping of Almayer's fist upon the table. On the
short intervals of silence, the high complaining note
of tumblers standing close together and vibrating to
the shock lingered, growing fainter till it leapt up
again into tumultuous ringing, when a new idea
started a new rush of words and brought down the
heavy hand again. At last the quarrelsome shout-
ing ceased, and the thin plaint of disturbed glass
died away into reluctant quietude.

Babalatchi and Mrs. Almayer had listened curi-
ously, their bodies bent and their ears turned towards
the passage. At every louder shout they nodded at
each other with a ludicrous assumption of scandal-
ised propriety, and they remained in the same atti-
tude for some time after the noise had ceased.

"This is the devil of gin,'' whispered Mrs. Al-

180 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

mayer. "Yes; he talks like that sometimes when
there is nobody to hear him."

"What does he say?" inquired Babalatchi,
eagerly. "You ought to understand."

"I have forgotten their talk. A little I under-
stood. He spoke without any respect of the white
ruler in Batavia, and of protection, and said he had
been wronged; he said that several times. More I
did not understand. Listen! Again he speaks!"

"Tse! tse! tse!" clicked Babalatchi, trying to
appear shocked, but with a joyous twinkle of his
solitary eye. " There will be great trouble between
those white men. I will go round now and see.
You tell your daughter that there is a sudden and a
long journey before her, with much glory and splen-
dour at the end. And tell her that Dain must go,
or he must die, and that he will not go alone."

"No, he will not go alone," slowly repeated Mrs.
Almayer, with a thoughtful air, as she crept into
the passage after seeing Babalatchi disappear round
the corner of the house.

The statesman of Sambir, under the impulse of
vivid curiosity, made his way quickly to the front
of the house, but once there he moved slowly and
cautiously as he crept step by step up the stairs of
the verandah. On the highest step he sat down
quietly, his feet on the steps below, ready for flight
should his presence prove unwelcome. He felt

ALMAYER'.S FOLLY. 181

pretty safe so. The table stood nearly endways to
him, and he saw Almayer's back; at Nina he looked
full face, and had a side view of both officers ; but
of the four persons sitting at the table only Nina
and the younger officer noticed his noiseless arrival.
The momentary dropping of Nina's eyelids acknowl-
edged Babalatchi's presence ; she then spoke at once
to the young sub, who turned towards her with
attentive alacrity, but her gaze was fastened steadily
on her father's face while Almayer was speaking
uproariously.

"... disloyalty and unscrupulousness ! What
have you ever done to make me loyal? You have
no grip on this country. I had to take care of my-
self, and when I asked for protection I was met with
threats and contempt, and had Arab slander thrown
in my face. I! a white man!"

"Don't be violent, Almayer," remonstrated the
lieutenant; "I have heard all this already."

" Then why do you talk to me about scruples ? I
wanted money, and I gave powder in exchange.
How could I know that some of your wretched men
were going to be blown up? Scruples! Pah!"

He groped unsteadily amongst the bottles, trying
one after another, grumbling to himself the while.
"No more wine," he muttered discontentedly.

"You have had enough, Almayer," said the lieu-
tenant, as he lighted a cigar. "Is it not time to

132 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

deliver to us your prisoner? I take it you have that
Dain Maroola stowed away safely somewhere. Still
we had better get that business over, and then we
shall have more drink. Come! don't look at me
like this."

Almayer was staring with stony eyes, his trem-
bling fingers fumbling about his throat.

" Gold, " he said with difficulty. " Hem ! A hand
on the windpipe, you know. Sure you will excuse.
I wanted to say a little gold for a little powder.
What's that?"

"I know, I know," said the lieutenant, sooth-
ingly-

" No ! You don't know. Not one of you knows ! "
shouted Almayer. "The government is a fool, I
tell you. Heaps of gold. I am the man that
knows; I and another one. But he won't speak.
He is "

He checked himself with a feeble smile, and, mak-
ing an unsuccessful attempt to pat the officer on the
shoulder, knocked over a couple of empty bottles.

"Personally you are a fine fellow," he said very
distinctly, in a patronising manner. His head
nodded drowsily as he sat muttering to himself.

The two officers looked at each other helplessly.

"This won't do," said the lieutenant, addressing
his junior. " Have the men mustered in the com-

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 188

pound here. I must get some sense out of him.
Hi! Almayer! Wake up, man. Redeem your word.
You gave your word. You gave your word of hon-
our, you know."

Almayer shook off the officer's hand with impa-
tience, but his ill-humour vanished at once, and he
looked up, putting his finger to the side of his nose.

" You are very young; there is time for all things,"
he said, with an air of great sagacity.

The lieutenant turned towards Nina, who, leaning
back in her chair, watched her father steadily.

"Really I am very much distressed by all this
for your sake," he exclaimed. "I do not know,"
he went on, speaking with some embarrassment,
"whether I have any right to ask you anything,
unless, perhaps, to withdraw from this painful
scene, but I feel that I must — for your father's good

— suggest that you should 1 mean if you have

any influence over him you ought to exert it now to
make him keep the promise he gave me before he —
before he got into this state."

He observed with discouragement that she seemed
not to take any notice of what he said, sitting still
with half-closed eyes.

"I trust " he began again.

"What is the promise you speak of?" abruptly
asked Nina, leaving her seat and moving towards
her father.

184 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

" Nothing that is not just and proper. He prom-
ised to deliver to us a man who in time of profound
peace took the lives of innocent men to escape the
punishment he deserved for breaking the law. He
planned his mischief on a large scale. It is not his
fault if it failed, partially. Of course you have
heard of Dain Maroola. Your father secured him,
I understand. We know he escaped up this river.
Perhaps you "

" And he killed white men ! " interrupted Nina.

"I regret to say they were white. Yes, two
white men lost their lives through that scoundrel's
freak. "

"Two only!" exclaimed Nina.

The officer looked at her in amazement.

"Why! why! You " he stammered, con-
fused.

"There might have been more," interrupted Nina.
" And when you get this — this scoundrel, will
you go?"

The lieutenant, still speechless, bowed his assent.

" Then I would get him for you if 1 had to seek
him in a burning fire," she burst out with passionate
energy. "I hate the sight of your white faces. I
hate the sound of your gentle voices. That is the
way you speak to women, dropping sweet words
before any pretty face. I have heard your voices
before. 1 hoped to live here without seeing any

ALMAYER'S FOI,LY. 186

other white face but this," she added in a gentler
tone, touching lightly her father's cheek.

Almayer ceased his mumbling and opened his
eyes. He caught hold of his daughter's hand and
pressed it to his face, Avhile Nina with the other
hand smoothed his rumpled grey hair, looking de-
fiantly over her father's head at the officer, who had
now regained his composure and returned her look
with a cool, steady stare. Below, in front of the
verandah, they could hear the tramp of seamen mus-
tering there according to orders. The sub-lieutenant
came up the steps, while Babalatchi stood up un-
easily and, with finger on lip, tried to catch Nina's
eye.

"You are a good girl," whispered Almayer,
absently, di'opping his daughter's hand.

"Father! father!" she cried, bending over him
with passionate entreaty. "See those two men
looking at us. Send them away. I cannot bear it
any more. Send them away. Do what they want
and let them go."

She caught sight of Babalatchi and ceased speak-
ing suddenly, but her foot tapped the floor with
rapid beats in a paroxysm of nervous restlessness.
The two officers stood close together looking curi-
ously.

"What has happened? What is the matter?"
"vhispered the younger man.

186 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

"Don't know," answered, the other, under hli
breath. "One is furious, and the other is drunk.
Not so drunk, either. Queer, this. Look!"

Almayer had risen, holding on to his daughter's
arm. He hesitated a moment, then he let go his
hold and lurched half-way across the verandah.
There he pulled himself together, and stood very-
straight, breathing hard and glaring round an-
grily.

"Are the men ready?" asked the lieutenant.

"All ready, sir."

"Now, Mr. Almayer, lead the way," said the
lieutenant.

Almayer rested his eyes on him as if he saw him
for the first time.

"Two men," he said thickly. The effort of
speaking seemed to interfere with his equilibrium.
He took a quick step to save himself from a fall,
and remained swaying backwards and forwards.
"Two men," he began again, speaking with diffi-
culty. " Two white men — men in uniform — hon-
ourable men. I want to say men of honour. Are
you?"

"Come! None of that," said the officer, impa-
tiently. "Let us have that friend of yours."

"What do you think I am?" asked Almayer,
fiercely.

" You are drunk, but not so drunk as not to know

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 187

what you are doing. Enough of this tomfoolery,"
said the officer, sternly, "or I will have you put
under arrest in your own house."

"Arrest!" laughed Almayer, discordantly. "Ha!
ho! ha! Arrest! Why, I have been trying to get
out of this infernal place for twenty years, and I
can't. You hear, man! I can't, and never shall!
Never ! "

He ended his words with a sob, and walked un-
steadily down the stairs. When in the courtyard,
the lieutenant approached him, and took him by the
arm. The sub-lieutenant and Babalatchi followed
close.

"That's better, Almayer," said the officer, en-
couragingly. "Where are you going to? There
are only planks there. Here," he went on, shaking
him slightly, "do we want the boats?"

"No," answered Almayer, viciously. "You want
a grave."

"What? Wild again! Try to talk sense."

" Grave ! " roared Almayer, struggling to get
himself free. "A hole in the ground. Don't you
understand? You must be drunk. Let me go!
Let go, I tell you ! "

He tore away from the officer's grasp, and reeled
towards the planks where the body lay under its
white cover; then he turned round quickly, and
faced the semicircle of interested faces. The sun

188 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

was sinking rapidly, throwing long shadows of
house and trees over the courtyard, but the light
lingered yet on the river, where the logs went drift-
ing past in midstream, looking very distinct and
black in the pale red glow. The trunks of the trees
in the forest on the east bank were lost in gloom,
while their highest branches swayed gently in the
departing sunlight. The air felt heavy and cold in
the breeze, expiring in slight puffs that came over
the water.

Almayer shivered as he made an effort to speak,
and again with an uncertain gesture he seemed to
free his throat from the grip of an invisible hand.
His bloodshot eyes wandered aimlessly from face to
face.

" There ! " he said at last. " Are you all there ?
He is a dangerous man."

He dragged at the cover with hasty violence, and
the body rolled stiffly off the planks and fell at his
feet in rigid helplessness.

"Cold, perfectly cold," said Almayer, looking
round with a mirthless smile. "Sorry can do no
better. And you can't hang him, either. As you
observe, gentlemen," he added gravely, "there is no
head, and hardly any neck."

The last ray of light was snatched away from the
tree-tops, the river grew suddenly dark, and in the
great stillness the murmur of the flowing water

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 189

seemed to fill the vast expanse of grey shadow that
descended upon the land.

"This is Dain," went on Almayer to the silent
group that surrounded him. " And I have kept my
word. First one hope, then another, and this is my
last. Nothing is left now. You think there is one
dead man here ? Mistake, I 'sure you. I am much
more dead. Why don't you hang me?" he sug-
gested suddenly, in a friendly tone, addressing the
lieutenant. " I assure, assure you it would be a mat
— matter of form altog — altogether."

These last words he muttered to himself, and
walked zigzagging towards his house. "Get out!"
he thundered at Ali, who was approaching timidly
with offers of assistance. From afar scared groups
of men and women watched his devious progress.
He dragged himself up the stairs by the banis-
ter, and managed to reach a chair, into which he
fell heavily. He sat for a while panting with
exertion and anger, and looking round vaguely
for Nina; then making a threatening gesture
towards the compound, where he heard Babalatchi's
voice, he overturned the table with his foot in a
great crash of smashed crockery. He muttered yet
menacingly to himself, then his head fell on his
breast, his eyes closed, and with a deep sigh he fell
asleep.

That night — for the first time in its history — the

190 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

peaceful and flourishing settlement of Sambir saw
the lights shining about " Almayer's Folly." These
were the lanterns of the boats hung up by the sea-
men under the verandah where the two officers were
holding a court of inquiry into the truth of the story
related to them by Babalatchi. Babalatchi had
regained all his importance. He was eloquent and
persuasive, calling Heaven and Earth to witness
the truth of his statements. There were also other
witnesses. Mahmat Banjer and a good many others
underwent a close examination that dragged its
weary length far into the evening. A messenger
was sent for Abdulla, who excused himself from
coming on the score of his venerable age, but sent
Reshid. Mahmat had to produce the bangle, and
saw with rage and mortification the lieutenant put
it in his pocket, as one of the proofs of Dain's death,
to be sent in with the official report of the mission.
Babalatchi 's ring was also impounded for the same
purpose, but the experienced statesman was resigned
to that loss from the very beginning. He did not
mind as long as he was sure that the white men
believed. He put that question to himself earnestly
as he left, one of the last, when the proceedings came
to a close. He was not certain. Still, if they be-
lieved only for a night, he would put Dain beyond
their reach and feel safe himself. He walked away
fast, looking from time to time over his shoulder, in

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 191

the fear of being followed, but he saw and heard
nothing.

"Ten o'clock," said the lieutenant, looking at his
watch and yawning. " I shall hear some of the cap-
tain's complimentary remarks when we get back.
Miserable business, this."

"Do you think all this is true?" asked the
younger man.

"True! It is just possible. But if it isn't true
what can we do? If we had a dozen boats we could
patrol the creeks; and that wouldn't be much good.
That drunken madman was right ; we haven't enough
hold on this coast. They do what they like. Are
our hammocks slung?"

"Yes, I told the coxswain. Strange couple over
there," said the sub, with a wave of his hand
towards Almayer's house.

"Hem! Queer, certainly. What have you been
telling her? I was attending to the father most of
the time."

"I assure you I have been perfectly civil," pro-
tested the other warmly.

"All right. Don't get excited. She objects to
civility, then, from what I understand. I thought
you may have been tender. You know we are on
service."

"Well, of course. Never forget that. Coldly
civil. That's all."

192 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

They both laughed a little, and not feeling sleepy
began to pace the verandah side by side. The moon
rose stealthily above the trees, and suddenly changed
the river into a stream of scintillating silver. The
forest came out of the black void and stood sombre
and pensive over the sparkling water. The breeze
died aAvay into a breathless calm.

Seamanlike, the two officers tramped measuredly
up and down without exchanging a word. The
loose planks rattled rhythmically under their steps
with obtrusive dry sound in the perfect silence of
the night. As they were wheeling round again the
younger man stood attentive.

"Did you hear that?'' he asked.

"No!" said the other. "Hear what?"

" I thought I heard a cry. Ever so faint. Seemed
a woman's voice. In that other house. Ah!
Again! Hear it?"

"No," said the lieutenant, after listening awhile.
"You young fellows always hear women's voices.
If you are going to dream you had better get into
your hammock. Good-night."

The moon mounted higher, and the warm shadows
grew smaller and crept away as if hiding before the
cold and cruel light.

CHAPTER X.

" It has set at last," said Nina to her mother,
pointing towards the hills behind which the sun
had sunk. " Listen, mother, I am going now to
Bulangi's creek, and if I should never return "

She interrupted herself, and something like doubt
dimmed for a moment the fire of suppressed exalta-
tion that had glowed in her eyes and had illuminated
the serene impassiveness of her features with a
ray of eager life during all that long day of ex-
citement — the day of joy and anxiety, of hope
and terror, of vague grief and indistinct delight.
While the sun shone with that dazzling light in
which her love was born and grew till it possessed
her whole being, she was kept firm in her un-
wavering resolve by the mysterious whisperings of
desire which filled her heart with impatient longing
for the darkness that would mean the end of danger
and strife, the beginning of happiness, the fulfilling
of love, the completeness of life. It had set at
last! The short tropical twilight went out before
she could draw the long breath of relief : and now

O lfl.3

194 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

the sudden darkness seemed to be full of menacing
voices calling upon her to rush headlong into the
unknown ; to be true to her own impulses, to give
herself up to the passion she had evoked and
shared. He was waiting! In the solitude of the
secluded clearing, in the vast silence of the forest
he was waiting alone, a fugitive in fear of his life.
Indifferent to his danger he was waiting for her.
It was for her only that he had come ; and now
as the time approached when he should have his
reward, she asked herself with dismay what meant
that chilling doubt of her own will and of her
own desire? With an effort she shook off the fear
of the passing weakness. He should have his re-
ward. Her woman's love and her woman's honour
overcame the faltering distrust of that unknown
future waiting for her in the darkness of the river.

"No, you shall not return," muttered Mrs. Al-
mayer, prophetically. " Without you he will not

go, and if he remains here " She waved her

hand towards the lights of " Almayer's Folly," and
the unfinished sentence died out in a threatening
murmur.

The two women had met behind the house, and
now were walking slowly together towards the
creek where all the canoes were moored. Arrived
at the fringe of bushes they stopped by a common
impulse, and Mrs. Almayer, laying her hand on her

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 195

daughter's arm, tried in vain to look close into the
girl's averted face. When she attempted to speak,
her first words were lost in a stifled sob that
sounded strangely coming from that woman who, of
all human passions, seemed to know only those of
anger and hate.

" You are going away to be a great Ranee," she
said at last, in a voice that was steady enough now,
••' and if you be wise you shall have much power that
will endure many days, and even last into your old
age. What have I been? A slave all my life, and
I have cooked rice for a man who had no courage
and no wisdom. Hai ! 1 ! even I, was given in
gift by a chief and a warrior to a man that was
neither. Hai ! Hai ! "

She wailed to herself softly, lamenting the lost
possibilities of murder and mischief that could have
fallen to her lot had she been mated with a congenial
spirit. Nina bent down over Mrs. Almayer's slight
form and scanned attentively, under the stars that
had rushed out on the black sky and now hung
breathless over that strange parting, her mother's
shrivelled features, and looked close into the sunken
eyes that could see into her own dark future by the
light of a long and a painful experience. Again she
felt herself fascinated, as of old, by her mother's
exalted mood and by the oracular certainty of ex-
pression which, together with her fits of violence,

196 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

had contributed not a little to the reputation for
witchcraft she enjoyed in the settlement.

" I was a slave, and you shall be a queen," went
on Mrs. Almayer, looking straight before her ; " but
remember men's strength and their weakness. Trem-
ble before his anger, so that he may see your fear in
the light of day; but in your heart you may laugh,
for after sunset he is your slave."

" A slave ! He ! The master of life ! You do
not know him, mother."

Mrs. Almayer condescended to laugh contemptu-
ously.

" You speak like a fool of a white woman," she
exclaimed. " What do you know of men's anger
and of men's love ? Have you watched the sleep of
men weary of dealing death? Have you felt about
you the strong arm that could drive a kriss deep
into a beating heart? Yah! you are a white woman,
and ought to pray to a woman-god ! "

" Why do you say this ? I have listened to your
words so long that I have forgotten my old life.
If I was white would I stand here, ready to go?
Mother, I shall return to the house and look once
more at my father's face."

•' No ! " said Mrs. Almayer, violently. " No, he
sleeps now the sleep of gin ; and if you went back
he might awake and see you. No, he shall never

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 197

see you. When the terrible old man took you away
from me when you were little, you remember "

" It was such a long time ago," murmured Nina.

"I remember," went on Mrs. Almayer, fiercely.
" I wanted to look at your face again. He said ho !
I heard you cry and jumped into the river. You
were his daughter then ; you are my daughter now.
Never shall you go back to that house ; you shall
never cross this courtyard again. No ! no ! "

Her voice rose almost to a shout. On the other
side of the creek there was a rustle in the long grass.
The two woman heard it, and listened for a while in
startled silence.

" I shall go," said Nina, in a cautious but intense
whisper. " What is your hate or your revenge to
me?"

She moved towards the house, Mrs. Almayer
clinging to her and trying to pull her back.

" Stop, you shall not go ! " she gasped.

Nina pushed away her mother impatiently and
gathered up her skirts for a quick run, but Mrs.
Almayer ran forward and turned round, facing her
daughter with outstretched arms.

" If you move another step," she exclaimed, breath-
ing quickly, " I shall cry out. Do you see those
lights in the big house ? There sit two white men,
angry because they cannot have the blood of the man
you love. And in those dark houses," she continued,

198 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

more calmly as she pointed towards the settlement,
" mv voice could wake up men that would lead the
Orang Blanda soldiers to him who is waiting — for
you."

She could not see her daughter's face, but the
white figure before her stood silent and irresolute
in the darkness. Mrs. Almayer pursued her ad-
vantage.

^ Give up your old life ! Forget ! " she said in
entreating tones. "Forget that you ever looked
at a white face ; forget their words ; forget their
thoughts. They speak lies. And they think lies
because they despise us that are better than they
are, but not so strong. Forget their friendship and
their contempt ; forget their many gods. Girl, why
do you want to remember the past when there is a
warrior and a chief ready to give many lives — his
own life — for one of your smiles ? "

While she spoke she pushed gently her daughter
towards the canoes, hiding her own fear, anxiety,
and doubt under the flood of passionate words that
left Nina no time to think and no opportunity to
protest, even if she had wished it. But she did
not wish it now. At the bottom of that sudden
desire to look again at her father's face there was
no strong affection. She felt no scruples and no
remorse at leaving suddenly that man whose senti-
ment towards herself she could not understand, she

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 199

could not even see. There was only an instinctive
clinging to old life, to old habits, to old faces ; that
fear of finality which lurks in every human breast
and prevents so many heroisms and so many crimes.
E'er years she had stood between her mother and her
father, the one so strong in her weakness, the other
so weak where he could have been strong. Between
those two beings so dissimilar, so antagonistic, she
stood with mute heart wondering and angry at the
fact of her own existence. It seemed so unreason-
able, so humiliating to be flung there in that settle-
ment and to see the days rush by into the past,
without a hope, a desire, or an aim that would justify
the life she had to endure in ever-growing weariness.
She had little belief and no sympathy Cor her father's
dreams ; but the savage ravings of her mother chanced
to strike a responsive chord, deep down somewhere
in her despairing heart ; and slie dreamed dreams of
her own with the persistent absorption of a captive
thinking of liberty within the walls of his prison
cell. With the coming of Dain she found the road
to freedom by obeying the voice of the new-born
impulses, and with surprised joy she thought she
could read in his eyes the answer to all the ques-
tionings of her heart. She understood now the
reason and the aim of life ; and in the triumphant
unveiling of that mystery she threw away disdain-
fully her past with its sad thoughts, its bitter feel-

20() ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

ings, and its faint affections, now withered and dead
in contact with her fierce passion.

Mrs. Almayer unmoored Nina's own canoe and,
straightening herself, painfully stood, painter in
hand, looking at her daughter.

" Quick," she said ; " get away before the moon
rises, while the river is dark. I am afraid of
AbduUa's slaves. The wretches prowl in the night
often, and might see and follow you. There are
two paddles in the canoe."

Nina approached her mother and hesitatingly
touched lightly with her lips the wrinkled forehead.
Mrs. Almayer snorted contemptuously in protest
against that tenderness which she, nevertheless,
feared could be contagious.

•' Shall I ever see you again, mother ? " murmured
Nina.

" No," said Mrs. Almayer, after a short silence.
" Why should you return here where it is my fate
to die? You shall live far away in splendour and
might. When 1 hear of white men driven from
the islands, then I shall know that you are alive,
and that you remember my words."

" I shall always remember," returned Nina,
earnestly; "but where is my power, and what can
I do?"

" Do not let him look too long in your eyes, nor
lay his head on your knees without reminding him

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 201

that men should fight before they rest. And if he
lingers, give him his kriss yourself and bid him go,
as the wife of a mighty prince should do when the
enemies are near. Let him slay the white men
that come to us to trade with prayers on their lips
and loaded guns in their hands. Ah " — she ended
with a sigh — " they are on every sea, and on every
shore ; and they are very many I "

She swung the bow of the canoe towards the
river, but did not let go the gunwale, keeping her
hand on it in irresolute thoughtfulness. 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.
" Do you hear anything ? "

••'No," said Mrs. Almayer, absently. "Listen,
Nina," she continued, abruptly, after a slight pause,
" in after years there will be other women "

A stifled cry in the boat interrupted her, and the
paddle rattled in the canoe as it slipped from
Nina's hands, which she put out in a protesting
gesture. Mrs. Almayer fell on her knees on the
bank and leaned over the gunwale so as to bring
her own face close to her daughter's.

" There will be other women," she repeated
firmly ; " I tell you that, because you are half
white, and may forget that he is a great chief, and
that such things must be. Hide your anger, and

202 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

do not let him see on your face the pain that will
eat your heart. Meet him with joy in your eyes
and wisdom on your lips, for to you he shall turn
in sadness or in doubt. As long as he looks upon
many women your power will last, but should
there be one, one only with whom he seems to
forget you, then "

" I could not live," exclaimed Nina, covering her
face with both her hands. " Do not speak so,
mother; it could not be."

" Then," went on Mrs. Almayer, steadily, " to
that woman, Nina, show no mercy."

She moved the canoe down towards the stream
by the gunwale, and gripped it with both her hands,
the bow pointing into the river.

"Are you crying?" she asked sternly of her
daughter, who sat still with covered face. " Arise,
and take your paddle, for he has waited long
enough. And remember, Nina, no mercy ; and if
you must strike, strike with a steady hand."

She put out all her strength, and swinging her
body over the water, shot the light craft far into
the stream. When she recovered herself from the
effort she tried vainly to catch a glimpse of the
canoe that seemed to have dissolved suddenly into
the white mist trailing over the heated waters of
the Pantai. After listening for a while intently on
her knees, Mrs. Almayer rose with a deep sigh.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 203

while two tears wandered slowly down her withered
cheeks. She wiped them off quickly with a wisp
of her grey hair as if ashamed of herself, but could
not stifle another loud sigh, for her heart was
heavy and she suffered much, being unused to
tender emotions. This time she fancied she had
heard a faint noise, like the echo of her own sigh,
and she stopped, straining her ears to catch the
slightest sound, and peering apprehensively towards
the bushes near her.

"Who is there?" she asked, in an unsteady voice,
while her imagination peopled the solitude of the
riverside with ghost-like forms. " Who is there ? "
she repeated faintly.

There was no answer : only the voice of the river
murmuring in sad monotone behind the white veil
seemed to swell louder for a moment, to die away
again in a soft whisper of eddies washing against
the bank.

Mrs. Almayer shook her head as if in answer to
her own thoughts, and walked quickly away from
the bushes, looking to the right and left watchfully.
She went straight towards the cooking shed, observ-
ing that the embers of the fire there glowed more
brightly than usual, as if somebody had been adding
fresh fuel to the fires during the evening. As she
approached, Babalatchi, who had been squatting in the
warm glow, rose and met her in the shadow outside.

204 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

" Is she gone ? " asked tlie anxious statesman,
hastily.

" Yes," answered Mrs. Almayer. " What are the
white men doing ? When did you leave them? "

" They are sleeping now, I think. May they never
wake ! " exclaimed Babalatchi, fervently. " Oh 1
but they are devils, and made much talk and trouble
over that carcase. The chief threatened me twice
with his hand, and said he would have me tied up to
a tree. Tie me up to a tree I Me!" he repeated,
striking his breast violently.

Mrs. Almayer laughed tauntingly.

" And you salaamed and asked for mercy. Men
with arms by their side acted otherwise when I was
young."

" And where are they, the men of your youth ?
You mad woman ! " retorted Babalatchi, angrily.
'' Killed by the Dutch. Aha! But I shall live to
deceive them. A man knows when to fight and
when to tell peaceful lies. You would know that
if you were not a woman."

But Mrs. Almayer did not seem to hear him.
With bent body and outstretched arm she appeared
to be listening to some noise behind the shed.

" There are strange sounds," she whispered, with
evident alarm. " I have heard in the air the sounds
of grief, as of a sigh and weeping. That was by
the riverside. And now again I heard "

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 206

" Where ? " asked Babalatchi, in an altered voice.
" What did you hear ? "

" Close here. It was like a breath long drawn.
I wish I had burnt the paper over the body before
it was buried."

" Yes," assented Babalatchi. " But the white men
had him thrown in a hole at once. You know he
found his death on the river," he added cheerfully,
" and his ghost may hail the canoes, but would leave
the land alone."

Mrs. Almayer, who had been craning her neck to
look round the corner of the shed, drew back her
head.

" There is nobody there," she said, reassured. " Is
it not time for the Rajah war-canoe to go to the
clearing ? "

" I have been waiting for it here, for I myself must
go," explained Babalatchi. '*• I think I will go over
and see what makes them late. When will you
come? The Rajah gives you refuge."

"I shall paddle over before the break of day, I
cannot leave my dollars behind," muttered Mrs.
Almayer.

They separated. Babalatchi crossed the court-
yard towards the creek to get his canoe, and Mrs.
Almayer walked slowly to the house, ascended the
plankway, and passing through the back verandah
entered the passage leading to the front of the

206 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

hou.se ; but before going in she turned in the door-
way and looked back at the empty and silent court-
yard, now lit up by the rays of the rising moon.
No sooner had she disappeared, however, than a
vague shape flitted out from amongst the stalks of
the banana plantation, darted over the moonlit space,
and fell in the darkness at the foot of the verandah.
It might have been the shadow of a driving cloud,
so noiseless and rapid was its passage, but for the
trail of disturbed grass, whose feathery heads
trembled and swayed for a long time in the moon-
light before they rested motionless and gleaming,
like a design of silver sprays embroidered on a
sombre background.

Mrs. Almayer lighted the cocoanut lamp, and lift-
ing cautiously the red curtain, gazed upon her hus-
band, shading the light with her hand. Almayer,
huddled up in the chair, one of his arms hanging
down, the other thrown across the lower part of his
face as if to ward off an invisible enemy, his legs
stretched straight out, slept heavily, unconscious of
the unfriendly eyes that looked upon him in dis-
paraging criticism. At his feet lay the overturned
table, amongst a wreck of crockery and broken
bottles. The appearance as of traces left by a
desperate struggle was accentuated by the chairs,
which seemed to have been scattered violently all
over the place, and now lay about the verandah

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 207

with a lamentable aspect of inebriety in their help-
less attitudes. Only Nina's big rocking-chair, stand-
ing black and motionless on its high runners, towered
above the chaos of demoralised furniture, unflinch-
ingly dignified and patient, waiting for its burden.

With a last scornful look towards the sleeper,
Mrs. Almayer passed behind the curtain into her
own room. A couple of bats, encouraged by the
darkness and the peaceful aspect of affairs, resumed
their silent and oblique gambols above Almayer's
head, and for a long time the profound quiet of the
house was unbroken, save for the deep breathing
of the sleeping man and the faint tinkle of silver in
the hands of the woman preparing for flight. In
the increasing light of the moon that had risen now
above the night mist, the objects on the verandah
came out strongly outlined in black splashes of
shadow with all the uncompromising ugliness of
their disorder, and a caricature of the sleeping
Almayer appeared on the dirty whitewash of the
wall behind him in a grotesquely exaggerated detail
of attitude and feature enlarged to a heroic size.
The discontented bats departed in quest of darker
places, and a lizard came out in short, nervous
rushes, and, pleased with the white table-cloth,
stopped on it in breathless immobility that would
have suggested sudden death had it not been for the
melodious call he exchanged with a less adventurous

208 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

friend hiding amongst the lumber in the courtyard.
Then the boards in the passage creaked, the lizard
vanished, and Almayer stirred uneasily with a sigh:
slowly, out of the senseless annihilation of drunken
sleep, he was returning, through the land of dreams,
to waking consciousness. Almayer's head rolled
from shoulder to shoulder in the oppression of his
dream : the heavens had descended upon him like a
heavy mantle, and trailed in starred folds far under
him. Stars above, stars all round him ; and from the
stars under his feet rose a whisper full of entreaties
and tears, and sorrowful faces flitted amongst the
clusters of light filling the infinite space below.
How escape from the importunity of lamentable
cries and from the look of staring, sad eyes in the
faces which pressed round him till he gasped for
breath under the crushing weight of worlds that
hung over his aching shoulders ? Get away ! But
how? If he attempted to move he would step off
into nothing, and perish in the crashing fall of that
universe of which he was the only support. And
what were the voices saying ? Urging him to move !
Why ? Move to destruction ! Not likely ! The
absurdity of the thing filled him with indignation.
He got a firmer foothold and stiffened his muscles
in heroic resolve to carry his burden to all eternity.
And ages passed in the superhuman labour, amidst
the rush of circling worlds : in the plaintive murmur

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 209

of sorrowful voices urging him to desist before it was
too late — till the mysterious power that had laid
upon him the giant task seemed at last to seek his
destruction. "With terror he felt an irresistible hand
shaking him by the shoulder, while the chorus of
voices swelled louder into an agonised prayer to go,
go before it is too late. He felt himself slipping,
losing his balance, as something dragged at his legs,
and he fell. With a faint cry he glided out of
the anguish of perishing creation into an imperfect
waking that seemed to be still under the spell of
his dream.

"What? What?" he murmured sleepily, with-
out moving or opening his eyes. His head still
felt heavy, and he had not the courage to raise his
eyelids. In his ears there still lingered the sound
of entreating whisper. — "Am I awake? — Why do
I hear the voices ? " he argued to himself, hazily.

— "I cannot get rid of the horrible nightmare yet.

— I have been very drunk. — What is that shaking
me ? I am dreaming yet. — I must open my eyes
and be done with it. I am only half awake, it is
evident."

He made an effort to shake off his stupor and
saw a face close to his, glaring at him with star-
ing eyeballs. He closed his eyes again in amazed
horror and sat up straight in the chair, trembling
in every limb. What was this apparition? — His
p

210 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

own fancy, no doubt. — His nerves had been much
tried the day before — and then the drink ! He
would not see it again if he had the courage to
look. — He would look directly. — Get a little
steadier first. — So. — Now

He looked. The figure of a woman standing in
the steely light, her hands stretched forth in a
suppliant gesture, confronted him from the far-off
end of the verandah; and in the space between
him and the obstinate phantom floated the murmur
of words that fell on his ears in a jumble of tor-
turing sentences, the meaning of which escaped the
utmost efforts of his brain. Who spoke the Malay
words ? Who ran away ? Why too late — and too
late for what? What meant those words of hate
and love mixed so strangely together, the ever-
recurring names falling on his ears again and again
— Nina, Dain; Dain, Nina? Dain was dead, and
Nina was sleeping, unaware of the terrible experi-
ence through which he was now passing. Was he
going to be tormented for ever, sleeping or waking,
and have no peace either night or day? What was
the meaning of this?

He shouted the last words aloud. The shadowy
woman seemed to shrink and recede a little from
him towards the doorway, and there was a shriek.
Exasperated by the incomprehensible nature of his
torment, Almayer made a rush upon the appari-

ALMAVER'S FOLLY. 211

tion, which eluded his grasp, and he brought up
heavily against the wall. Quick as lightning he
turned round and pursued fiercely the mysterious
figure flying from him with piercing shrieks that
were like fuel to the flames of his anger. Over
the furniture, round the overturned table, and now
he had it cornered behind Nina's chair. To the
left, to the right they dodged, the chair rocking
madly between them, she sending out shriek after
shriek at every feint, and he growling meaningless
curses through his hard set teeth. " Oh! the fiendish
noise that split his head and seemed to choke his
breath. — It would kill him. — It must be stopped I "
An insane desire to crush that yelling thing in-
duced him to cast himself recklessly over the chair
with a desperate grab, and they came down together
in a cloud of dust amongst the splintered wood.
The last shriek died out under him in a faint
gurgle, and he had secured the relief of absolute
silence.

He looked at the woman's face under him. A
real woman ! He knew her. By all that is won-
derful! Taminah! He jumped up ashamed of his
fury and stood perplexed, wiping his forehead.
The girl struggled to a kneeling posture and em-
braced his legs in a frenzied prayer for mercy.

'' Don't be afraid," he said, raising her. '' I shall
not hurt you. Why do you come to my house in

212 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

the night ? And if you had to come, why not go
behind the curtain where the women sleep?"

"The place behind the curtain is empty," gasped
Taminah, catching her breath between the words.
" There are no women in your house any more,
Tuan. I saw the old Mem go away before I tried to
wake you. I did not want your women, I wanted you. "

" Old Mem! " repeated Almayer. " Do you mean
my wife ? "

She nodded her head.

" But of my daughter you are not afraid? " said
Almayer.

"Have you not heard me?" she exclaimed.
" Have I not spoken for a long time when you lay
there with eyes half open? She is gone too."

" I was asleep. Can you not tell when a man is
sleeping and when awake ? "

" Sometimes," answered Taminah in a low voice ;
"sometimes the spirit lingers close to a sleeping
body and may hear. I spoke a long time before
I touched you, and I spoke softly for fear it would
depart at a sudden noise and leave you sleeping
for ever. I took you by the shoulder only when
you began to mutter words I could not under-
stand. Have you not heard, then, and do you
know nothing ? "

"Nothing of what you said. What is it? Tell
again, if you want me to know."

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 213

He took her by the shoulder and led her unre-
sisting to the front of the verandah into a stronger
light. She wrung her hands with such an appear-
ance of grief that he began to be alarmed.

" Speak," he said. " You made noise enough to
wake even dead men. And yet nobody living
came," he added to himself in an uneasy whisper.
"Are you mute? Speak! " he repeated.

In a rush of words which broke out after a short
struggle from her trembling lips she told him the
tale of Nina's love and her own jealousy. Several
times he looked angrily into her face and told her
to be silent ; but he could not stop the sounds
that seemed to him to run out in a hot stream,
swirl about his feet, and rise in scalding waves
about him, higher, higher, drowning his heart,
touching his lips with a feel of molten lead, blotting
out his sight in scorching vapour, closing over his
head, merciless and deadly. When she spoke of
the deception as to Dain's death of which he had
been the victim only that day, he glanced again
at her with terrible eyes, and made her falter for
a second, but he turned away directly, and his
face suddenly lost all expression in a stony stare
far away over the river. Ah ! the river ! His old
friend and his old enemy, speaking always with
the same voice as he runs from year to year bring-
ing fortune or disappointment, happiness or pain.

214 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

upon the same varying but unchanged surface of
glancing currents and swirling eddies. For many
years he had listened to the passionless and sooth-
ing murmur that sometimes was the song of hope,
at times the song of triumph, of encouragement ;
more often the whisper of consolation that spoke
of better days to come. For so many years ! So
many years ! And now to the accompaniment of
that murmur he listened to the slow and painful
beating of his heart. He listened attentively, won-
dering at the regularity of its beats. He began
to count mechanically. One, two. Why count?
At the next beat it must stop. No heart could
suffer so and beat so steadily for long. Those
regular strokes as of a muffled hammer that rang
in his ears must stop soon. Still beating unceasing
and cruel. No man can bear this ; and is this the
last, or will the next one be the last ? — How much
longer ? O God ! how much longer ? His hand
weighed heavier unconsciously on the girl's shoul-
der, and she spoke the last words of her story
crouching at his feet with tears of pain and shame
and anger. Was her revenge to fail her? This
white man was like a senseless stone. Too late !
Too late!

" And you saw her go ? " Almayer's voice sounded
harshly above her head.

" Did I not tell you ? " she sobbed, trying to

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 215

wriggle gently out from under his grip. " Did 1
not tell you that I saw the witchwoman push the
canoe? I lay hidden in the grass and heard all the
words. She that we used to call the white Mem
wanted to return to look at your face, but the witch-
woman forbade her, and "

She sank lower yet on her elbow, turning half
round under the downward push of the heavy hand,
her face lifted up to him with spiteful eyes.

" And she obeyed," she shouted out in a half-
laugh, half -cry of pain. " Let me go, Tuan. Why
are you angry with me ? Hasten, or you shall be too
late to show your anger to the deceitful woman."

Almayer dragged her up to her feet and looked
close into her face while she struggled, turning her
head away from his wild stare.

" Who sent you here to torment me ? " he asked,
violently. "I do not believe you. You lie."

He straightened his arm suddenly and flung her
across the verandah towards the doorway, where she
lay immobile and silent, as if she" had left her life in
his grasp, a dark heap, without a sound or a stir.

'' Oh I Nina ! " whispered Almayer, in a voice in
which reproach and love spoke together in pained
tenderness. "Oh! Nina! I do not believe."

A light draught from the river ran over the court-
yard in a wave of bowing grass and, entering the
verandah, touched Almayer's forehead with its cool

216 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

breath, in a caress of infinite pity. The curtain in
the women's doorway blew out and instantly col-
lapsed with startling helplessness. He stared at the
fluttering stuff.

"Nina!" cried Almayer. "Where are you,
Nina?"

The wind passed out of the empty house in a
tremulous sigh, and all was still.

Almayer hid his face in his hands as if to shut
out a loathsome sight. When, hearing a slight
rustle, he uncovered his eyes, the dark heap by
the door was gone.

CHAPTER XI.

In the middle of a shadowless square of moon-
light, shining on a smooth and level expanse of
young rice-shoots, a little shelter-hut perched on
high posts, the pile of brushwood near by and the
glowing embers of a fire with a man stretched
before it, seemed very small and as if lost in the
pale green iridescence reflected from the ground.
On three sides of the clearing, appearing very far
away in the deceptive light, the big trees of the
forest, lashed together with manifold bands by a
mass of tangled creepers, looked down at the grow-
ing young life at their feet with the sombre resigna-
tion of giants that had lost faith in their strength.
And in the midst of them the merciless creepers
clung to the big trunks in cable-like coils, leaped
from tree to tree, hung in thorny festoons from the
lower boughs, and, sending slender tendrils on high
to seek out the smallest branches, carried death to
their victims in an exulting riot of silent destruction.

On the fourth side, following the curve of the
bank of that branch of the Pantai that formed the

217

218 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

only access to the clearing, ran a black line of young
trees, bushes, and thick second growth, unbroken
save for a small gap chopped out in one place. At
that gap began the narrow footpath leading from
the water's edge to the grass-built shelter used by
the night watchers when the ripening crop had to
be protected from the wild pigs. The pathway
ended at the foot of the piles on which the hut was
built in a circular space covered Avith ashes and bits
of burnt wood. In the middle of that space, by the
dim fire, lay Dain.

He turned over on his side with an impatient sigh,
and, pillowing his head on his bent arm, lay quietly
with his face to the dying fire. The glowing
embers shone redly in a small circle, throwing a
gleam into his wide-open eyes, and at every deep
breath the fine white ash of bygone hres rose in a
light cloud before his parted lips, and danced away
from the warm glow into the moonbeams pouring
down upon Bulangi's clearing. His body was weary
with the exertion of the past few days, his mind
more weary still with the strain of solitary waiting
for his fate. Never before had he felt so helpless.
He had heard the report of the gun fired on board
the launch, and he knew that his life was in untrust-
worthy hands, and that his enemies were very near.
During the slow hours of the afternoon he roamed
about on the edge of the forest, or, hiding in the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 219

bushes, watched the creek with unquiet eyes for
some sign of danger. He feared not death, yet
he desired ardently to live, for life to him was Nina.
She had promised to come, to follow him, to share
his danger and his splendour. But with her by his
side he cared not for danger, and without her there
could be no splendour and no joy in existence.
Crouching in his shady hiding place, he closed his
eyes, trying to evoke the gracious and charming
image of the white figure that for him was the
beginning and the end of life. With eyes shut
tight, his teeth hard set, he tried in a great effort
of passionate will to keep his hold on that vision
of supreme delight. In vain ! His heart grew
heavy as the figure of Nina faded away to be
replaced by another vision this time — a \asion of
armed men, of angry faces, of glittering arms — and
he seemed to hear the hum of excited and trium-
phant voices as they discovered him in his hiding
place. Startled by the vividness of his fancy, he
would open his eyes, and, leaping out into the sun-
light, resume his aimless wanderings around the
clearing. As he skirted in his weary march the
edge of the forest he glanced now and then into its
dark shade, so enticing in its deceptive appearance
of coolness, so repellent with its unrelieved gloom,
where lay, entombed and rotting, countless genera-
tions of trees, and where their successors stood as

220 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

if mourning, in dark green foliage, immense and
helpless, awaiting their turn. Only the parasites
seemed to live in a sinuous rush upwards into the
air and sunshine, feeding on the dead and the liv-
ing alike, and crowning their victims with pink
and blue flowers that gleamed amongst the boughs,
incongruous and cruel, like a strident and mocking
note in the solemn harmony of the doomed trees.

A man could hide there, thought Dain, as he
approached a place where the creepers had been
torn and hacked into an archway that might have
been the beginning of a path. As he bent down
to look through he heard angry grunting, and a
sound of wild pig crashed away in the undergrowth.
An acrid smell of damp earth and of decaying
leaves took him by the throat, and he drew back
with a scared face, as if he had been touched by
the breath of Death itself. The very air seemed
dead in there — heavy and stagnating, poisoned
with the corruption of countless ages. He went
on, staggering on his way, urged by the nervous
restlessness that made him feel tired yet caused
him to loathe the very idea of immobility and
repose. Was he a wild man to hide in the woods
and perhaps be killed there — in the darkness —
where there was no room to breathe ? He would
wait for his enemies in the sunlight, where he could
see the sky and feel the breeze. He knew how a

ALMAYEk'S FOLLY. 221

Malay chief should die. The sombre and desperate
fury, that peculiar inheritance of his race, took
possession of him, and he glared savagely across
the clearing towards the gap in the bushes by the
riverside. They would come from there. In imagi-
nation he saw them now. He saw the bearded faces
and the white jackets of the officers, the light on
the levelled barrels of the rifles. What is the bra-
very of the greatest warrior before the firearms in
the hand of a slave ? He would walk toward them
with a smiling face, with his hands held out in a
sign of submission till he was very near them. He
would speak friendly words — come nearer yet —
yet nearer — so near that they could touch him
with their hands and stretch them out to make
him a captive. That would be the time : with a
shout and a leap he would be in the midst of them,
kriss in hand, killing, killing, killing, and would die
with the shouts of his enemies in his ears, their
warm blood spurting before his eyes.

Carried away by his excitement, he snatched the
kriss hidden in his sarong, and, drawing a long
breath, rushed forward, struck at the empty air,
and fell on his face. He lay as if stunned in the
sudden reaction from his exultation, thinking that,
even if he died thus gloriously, it would have to be
before he saw Nina. Better so. If he saw her
again he felt that death would be too terrible.

222 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

With horror he, the descendant of Rajahs and of
conquerors, had to face the doubt of his own
bravery. His desire of life tormented him in a
paroxysm of agonising remorse. He had not the
courage to stir a limb. He had lost faith in him-
self, and there was nothing else in him of what
makes a man. The suffering remained, for it is
ordered that it should abide in the human body
even to the last breath, and fear remained. Dimly
he could look into the depths of his passionate love,
see its strength and its weakness, and felt afraid.

The sun went down slowly. The shadow of the
western forest marched over the clearing, covered
the man's scorched shoulders with its cool mantle,
and went on hurriedly to mingle with the shadows
of other forests on the eastern side. The sun lin-
gered for a while amongst the light tracery of the
higher branches, as if in friendly reluctance to aban-
don the body stretched in the green paddj^eld.
Then Dain, revived by the cool of the evening-
breeze, sat up and stared round him. As he did
so the sun dipped sharply, as if ashamed of being
detected in a sympathising attitude, and the clear-
ing, which during the day was all light, became
suddenly all darkness, where the fire gleamed like
an eye. Dain walked slowly towards the creek,
and, divesting himself of his torn sarong, his only
garment, entered the water cautiously. He had had

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 223

nothing to eat that day, and had not dared show
himself in daylight by the waterside to drink.
Now, as he swam silently, he swallowed a few
mouthfuls of water that lapped about his lips.
This did him good, and he walked with greater
confidence in himself and others as he returned
towards the fire. Had he been betrayed by La-
kamba all would have been over by this. He made
up a big blaze, and while it lasted dried himself, and
then lay down by the embers. He could not sleep,
but he felt a great numbness in all his limbs. His
restlessness was gone, and he was content to lie still,
measuring the time by watching the stars that rose
in endless succession above the forests, while the
slight puffs of wind under the cloudless sky seemed
to fan their twinkle into a greater brightness.
Dreamily he assured himself over and over again
that she would come, till the certitude crept into
his heart and filled him with a great peace. Yes,
when the next day broke, they M^ould be together on
the great blue sea that was like life — away from the
forests that were like death. He murmured the
name of Nina into the silent space with a tender
smile : this seemed to break the spell of stillness,
and far away by the creek a frog croaked loudly as
if iu answer. A chorus of loud roars and plaintive
calls rose from the mud along the line of bushes.
He laughed heartily ; doubtless it was their love-

224 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

song. He felt affectionate towards the frogs and
listened, pleased with the noisy life near him.

When the moon peeped above the trees he felt
the old impatience and the old restlessness steal over
him. Why was she so late? True, it was a long
way to come with a single paddle. With what skill
and what endurance could those small hands handle
a heavy paddle ! It was very wonderful — such small
hands, such soft little palms that knew how to touch
his cheek with a feel lighter than the fanning of
a butterfly's wing. Wonderful ! He lost himself
lovingly in the contemplation of this tremendous
mystery, and when he looked at the moon again it
had risen a hand's breadth above the trees. Would
she come? He forced himself to lie still, overcom-
ing the impulse to rise and rush round the clearing
again. He turned this way and that ; at last, quiver-
ing with the effort, he lay on his back, and saw her
face among the stars looking down on him.

The croaking of frogs suddenly ceased. With
the watchfulness of a hunted man Dain sat up,
listening anxiously, and heard several splashes in
the water as the frogs took rapid headers into the
creek. He knew that they had been alarmed by
something, and stood up suspicious and attentive.
A slight grating noise, then the dry sound as of
two pieces of wood struck against each other.
Somebody was about to land ! He took up an

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 225

armful of brushwood, and, without taking his eyes
from the path, held it over the embers of his fire.
He waited, undecided, and saw something gleam
amongst the bushes; then a white figure came out
of the shadows and seemed to float towards him
in the pale light. His heart gave a great leap and
stood still, then went on shaking liis frame in
furious beats. He dropped the brushwood upon
the glowing coals, and had an impression of shout-
ing her name — of rushing to meet her; yet he
emitted no sound, he stirred not an inch, but he
stood silent and motionless like chiselled bronze
under the moonlight that streamed over his naked
shoulders. As he stood still, fighting with his
breath, as if bereft of his senses by the intensity
of his delight, she walked up to him with quick,
resolute steps, and, with the appearance of one
about to leap from a dangerous height, thi-ew both
her arms round his neck with a sudden gesture.
A small blue gleam crept amongst the dry branches,
and the crackling of reviving fire was the only
sound as they faced each other in the speechless
en Aon of that meeting ; then the dry fuel caught
at once, and a bright hot flame shot upwards in a
blaze as high as their heads, and in its light they
saw each other's eyes.

Neither of them spoke. He was regaining his
senses in a slight tremor. that ran upwards along
9

226 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

his rigid body and hung about his trembling lips.
She drew back her head and fastened her eyes on
his in one of those long looks that are a woman's
most terrible weapon ; a look that is more stirring
than the closest touch, and more dangerous than
the thrust of a dagger, because it also whips the
soul out of the body, but leaves the body alive and
helpless, to be swayed here and there by the capri-
cious tempests of passion and desire ; a look that
enwraps the whole body, and that penetrates into
the innermost recesses of the being, bringing ter-
rible defeat in the delirious uplifting of accomplished
conquest. It has the same meaning for the man
of the forests and the sea as for the man threading
the paths of the more dangerous wilderness of
houses and streets. Men that had felt in their
breasts the awful exultation such a look awakens
become mere things of to-day — which is paradise ;
forget yesterday — which was suffering ; care not
for to-morrow — which may be perdition. They
wish to live under that look for ever. It is the
look of woman's surrender.

He understood, and, as if suddenly released from
his invisible bonds, fell at her feet with a shout of
joy, and, embracing her knees, hid his head in the
folds of her dress, murmuring disjointed words of
gratitude and love. Never before had he felt so
proud as now, when at the feet of that woman that

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 227

half belonged to his enemies. Her fingers played
with his hair in an absent-minded caress as she stood
absorbed in thought. The thing was done. Her
mother was right. The man was her slave. As
she glanced down at his kneeling form she felt a
great pitying tenderness for that man she was used
to call — even in her thoughts — the master of life.
She lifted her eyes and looked sadly at the southern
heavens under which lay the path of their lives, her
own, and that man's at her feet. Did he not say
himself that she was the light of his life ? She
would be his light and his wisdom ; she would be
his greatness and his strength ; yet hidden from the
eyes of all men she would be, above all, his only
and lasting weakness. A very woman! In the
sublime vanity of her kind she was thinking already
of moulding a god from the clay at her feet. A
god for others to worship. She was content to see
him as he was now, and to feel him quiver at the
slightest touch of her light fingers. And while
her eyes looked sadly at the southern stars a faint
smile seemed to be playing about her firm lips,
"^"ho can tell in the fitful light of a camp fire?
It might have been a smile of triumph, or of
conscious power, or of tender pity, or, perhaps, of
love.

She spoke tenderly to him, and he rose to his
feet, putting his arm round her in quiet conscious-

228 ALMAYER'S KOLLY.

ness of his ownerstiip ; she laid her head on his
shoulder with a sense of defiance to all the world
in the encircling protection of that arm. He was
hers with all his qualities and all his faults. His
strength and his courage, his recklessness and his
daring, his simple wisdom and his savage cunning
— all were hers. As they passed together out of
the red light of the fire into the silver shower of
rays that fell upon the clearing he bent his head
over her face, and she saw in his eyes the dreamy
intoxication of boundless felicity from the close
touch of her slight figure clasped to his side. With
a rhythmical swing of their bodies they walked
through the light towards the outlying shadows of
the forests that seemed to guard their happiness
in solemn immobility. Their forms melted in the
play of light and shadow at the foot of the big
trees, but the murmur of tender words lingered
over the empty clearing, grew faint, and died out.
A sigh full of unspeakable sorrow passed over the
land in the last effort of the dying breeze, and in
the great silence which succeeded, the earth and
the heavens were suddenly hushed up in the
mournful contemplation of human love and human
blindness.

They walked slowly back to the fire. He made
for her a seat out of the dry branches, and, throwing
himself down at her feet, lay his head in her lap and

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 229

gave himself up to the dreamy delight of the passing
hour. Their voices rose and fell tender or animated
as they spoke of their love and of their future.
She, with a few skilful words spoken from time to
time, guided his thoughts, and he let his happiness
flow in a stream of talk passionate and tender,
grave or menacing, according to the mood which
she evoked. He spoke to her of his own island,
where the gloomy forests and the muddy rivers were
unknown. He spoke of its terraced fields, of the
murmuring clear rills of sparkling water that flowed
down the sides of great mountains, bringing life to
the land and joy to its tillers. And he spoke also
of the mountain peak that rising lonely above the
belt of trees knew the secrets of the passing clouds,
and was the dwelling-place of the mysterious spirit
of his race, of the guardian genius of his house. He
spoke of vast horizons swept by fierce winds that
whistled high above the summits of burning moun-
tains. He spoke of his forefathers that conquered
ages ago the island of which he was to be the future
ruler. And then as, interested, she brought her
face nearer to his, he, touching lightly the thick
tresses of her long hair, felt a sudden impulse to
speak to her of the sea he loved so well ; and he
told her of its never-ceasing voice, to which he had
listened as a child, wondering at its hidden mean-
ing that no living man has penetrated yet ; of its

230 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

enchanting glitter ; of its senseless and capricious
fury ; how its surface was for ever changing, and
yet always enticing, while its depths were for ever
the same, cold and cruel, and full of the wisdom of
destroyed life. He told her how it held men slaves
of its charm for a lifetime, and then, regardless of
their devotion, swallowed them up, angry at their
fear of its mystery, which it would never disclose,
not even to those that loved it most. While he
talked, Nina's head had been gradually sinking
lower, and her face almost touched his now. Her
hair was over his eyes, her breath was on his fore-
head, her arms were about his body. No two beings
could be closer to each other, yet she guessed rather
than understood the meaning of his last words that
came out after a slight hesitation in a faint murmur,
dying out imperceptibly into a profound and signifi-
cant silence : " The sea. O Nina, is like a woman's
heart."

She closed his lips with a sudden kiss, and
answered in a steady voice —

" But to the men that have no fear, O master of
my life, the sea is ever true."

Over their heads a film of dark, thread-like
clouds, looking like immense cobwebs drifting under
the stars, darkened the sky with the presage of the
coming thunder-storm. From the invisible hills the
first distant rumble of thunder came in a prolonged

AOIAYER'S FOLLY. 231

roll which, after tossing about from hill to hill, lost
itself in the forests of the Pantai. Dain and Nina
stood up, and the former looked at the sky uneasily.

" It is time for Babalatchi to be here," he said.
'^ The night is more than half gone. Our road is
long, and a bullet travels quicker than the })est
canoe."

" He will be here before the moon is hidden behind
die clouds," said Nina. " I heard a splash in the
water," she added. " Did you hear it too ? "

"Alligator," answered Dain shortly, with a care-
less glance towards the creek. " The darker the
night," he continued, "the shorter will be our road,
for then we could keep in the current of the main
stream, but if it is light — even no more than now —
we must follow the small channels of sleeping water,
with nothing to help our paddles."

"Dain," interposed Nina, earnestly, "it was no
alligator. I heard the bushes rustling near the
landing-place."

" Yes," said Dain, after listening awhile. " It can-
not be Babalatchi, who would come in a big war
canoe, and openly. Those that are coming, whoever
they are, do not wish to make much noise. But you
have heard, and now I can see," he went on quickly.
" It is but one man. Stand behind me, Nina. If he
is a friend he is welcome ; if he is an enemy you shall
see him die."

232 ALMAYEK'S FOLLY.

He laid his hand on his kriss, and awaited the
approach of his unexpected visitor. The fire was
burning very low, and small clouds — precursors of
the storm — crossed the face of the moon in rapid suc-
cession, and their flying shadows darkened the clear-
ing. He could not make out who the man might be,
but he felt uneasy at the steady advance of the tall
figure walking on the path with a heavy tread, and
hailed it with a command to stop. The man stopped
at some little distance, and Dain expected him to
speak, but all he could hear was his deep breathing.
Through a break in the flying clouds a sudden
and fleeting brightness descended upon the clearing.
Before the darkness closed in again Dain saw a
hand holding some glittering object extended
towards him, heard Nina's cry of " Father ! " and
in an instant the girl was between him and Alma-
yer's revolver. Nina's loud cry woke up the echoes
of the sleeping woods, and the three stood still as if
waiting for the return of silence before they would
give expression to their various feelings. At the
appearance of Nina, Almayer's arm fell by his side,
and he made a step forward. Dain pushed the girl
gently aside.

'' Am I a wild beast that you should try to kill me
suddenly and in the dark, Tuan Almayer?" said
Dain, breaking the strained silence. " Throw some
brushwood on the fire," he went on, speaking to

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 233

Nina, " while I watch my white friend, lest harm
should come to you or to rae, O delight of my
heart ! "

Almayer ground his teeth and raised his arm
again. With a quick bound Dain was at his side :
there was a short scuffle, during which one barrel
of the revolver went off harmlessly, then the weapon,
wrenched out of Almayer's hand, whirled through
the air and fell in the bushes. The two men stood
close together, breathing hard. The replenished fire
threw out an unsteady circle of light and shone on
the terrified face of Nina, who looked at them with
outstretched hands.

'' Dain I " she cried out warningly, " Dain ! ''

He waved his hand towards her in a reassuring
gesture, and, turning to Almayer, said with great
courtesy —

'' Now we may talk, Tuan. It is easy to send
out death, but can your wisdom recall the life ?
She might have been harmed," he continued, in-
dicating Nina. " Your hand shook much ; for
myself I was much afraid."

"' Nina ! " exclaimed Almayer, " come to me at once.
What is this sudden madness? What bewitched
you ? Come to your father, and together we shall
try to forget this horrible nightmare ! "

He opened his arms with the certitude of clasping
her to his breast in another second. She did not

2.34 A LM AVER'S FOLLY.

move. As it dawned upon him that she did not
mean to obey he felt a deadly cold creep into his
heart, and, pressing the palms of his hands to his
temples, he looked down on the ground in mute
despair. Dain took Nina by the arm and led her
towards her father.

" Speak to him in the language of his people,"
he said. "He is grieving — as who would not grieve
at losing thee, my pearl I Speak to him the last
words he shall hear spoken by that voice, which
must be very sweet to him, but is all my life to
me."

He released her, and, stepping back a few paces
out of the circle of light, stood in the darkness
looking at them with calm interest. The reflec-
tion of a distant flash of lightning lit up the clouds
over their heads, and was followed after a short
interval by the faint rumble of thunder, which
mingled with Almayer's voice as he began to
speak.

'' Do you know what you are doing ? Do you
know what is waiting for you if you follow that
man? Have you no pity for yourself? Do you
know that you shall be at first his pla3rthing and
then a scorned slave, a drudge, and a servant of
some new fancy of that man ? "

She raised her hand to stop him, and turning her
head slightly, asked —

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 235

" You hear this, Dain I Is it true ? "

" By all the gods ! " came the impassioned answer
from the darkness — " by heaven and earth, by my
head and thine I swear : this is a white man's lie.
I have delivered my soul into your hands for ever ;
I breathe with your breath, I see with your eyes, I
think with your mind, and I take you into my heart
for ever."

" You thief ! " shouted the exasperated Alma-
yer.

A deep silence succeeded this outburst, then the
voice of Dain was heard again.

"Nay, Tuan," he said in a gentle tone, "that is
not true also. The girl came of her own will. I
have done no more but to show her my love like a
man ; she heard the cry of my heart, and she came,
and the dowry I have given to the woman you call
your wife."

Almayer groaned in his extremity of rage and
shame. Nina laid her hand lightly on his shoulder,
and the contact, light as the touch of a falling leaf,
seemed to calm him. He spoke quickly, and in
English this time.

" Tell me," he said — " tell me, what have they
done to you, your mother and that man? What
made you give yourself up to that savage? For
he is a savage. Between him and you there is a
barrier that nothing can remove. I can see in your

236 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

eyes the look of those who commit suicide when
they are mad. You are mad. Don't smile : it
breaks my heart. If I were to see you drowning
before my eyes, and I without the power to help
you, I could not suffer a greater torment. Have
you forgotten the teaching of so many years ? "

" No," she interrupted, " I remember it well. I
remember how it ended also. Scorn for scorn, con-
tempt for contempt, hate for hate. T am not of
your race. Between your people and me there is
also a barrier that nothing can remove. You ask
why I want to go, and T ask you why I should
stay?"

He staggered as if struck in the face, but with a
quick, unhesitating grasp she caught him by the arm
and steadied him.

" Why you should stay ! " he repeated slowly, in
a dazed manner, and stopped short, astounded at the
completeness of his misfortune.

"You told me yesterday," she went on again,
"that I could not understand or see your love for
me : it is so. How can I ? No two human beings
understand each other. They can understand but
their own voices. You wanted me to dream your
dreams, to see your own visions — the visions of life
amongst the white faces of those who cast me out
from their midst in angry contempt. But while you
spoke I listened to the voice of my own self; then

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 237

this man came, and all was still ; there was only
the murmur of his love. You call him a savage !
What do you call my mother, your wife ? "

"Nina!" cried Almayer, "take your eyes off my
face."

She looked down directly, but continued speak-
ing only a little above a whisper.

" In time," she went on, " both our voices, that
man's and mine, spoke together in a sweetness that
was intelligible to our ears only. You were speak-
ing of gold then, but our ears were filled with
the song of our love, and we did not hear you.
Then I found that we could see through eacli
other's eyes : that he saw things that nobody but
myself and he could see. We entered a land
where no one could follow us, and least of all you.
Then I began to live."

She paused. Almayer sighed deeply. With her
eyes still fixed on the ground she began speaking
again.

"And I mean to live. T mean to follow him.
I have been rejected with scorn by the white peo-
ple, and now 1 am a Malay I He took me in his
arms, he laid his life at my feet. He is brave; he
will be powerful, and I hold his bravery and his
strength in my hand, and I shall make him great.
His name shall be remembered long after both our
bodies are laid in the dust. I love you no less

238 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

than I did before, but 1 shall never leave him, for
without him I cannot live."

"If he understood what you have said," an-
swered Almayer, scornfully, "he must be highly
flattered. You want him as a tool for some incom-
prehensible ambition of yours. Enough, Nina. If
you do not go down at once to the creek, where
Ali is waiting with my canoe, I shall tell him to
return to the settlement and bring the Dutch officers
here. You cannot escape from this clearing, for I
have cast adrift your canoe. If the Dutch catch
this hero of yours they will hang him as sure as I
stand here. Now go."

He made a step towards his daughter and laid
hold of her by the shoulder, his other hand point-
ing down the path to the landing-place.

" Beware ! " exclaimed Dain ; " this woman be-
longs to me ! "

Nina wrenched herself free and looked straight
at Almayer's angry face.

"No, I will not go," she said with desperate
energy. " If he dies I shall die too ! "

" You die ! " said Almayer, contemptuously.
" Oh, no ! You shall live a life of lies and decep-
tion till some other vagabond comes along to sing;
how did you say that ? The song of love to you J
Make up your mind quickly."

He waited for a while, and then added meaningly —

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 239

"Shall I call out to All?"

" Call out," she answered in Malay, '•'• you that
cannot be true to your own countrymen. Only a
few days ago you were selling the powder for their
destruction; now you want to give up to them
the man that yesterday you called your friend.
Oh, Dain," she said, turning towards the motion-
less but attentive figure in the darkness, " instead
of bringing you life I bring you death, for he will
betray unless I leave you for ever! "

Dain came into the circle of light, and, throw-
ing his arm around Nina's neck, whispered in her
ear —

" I can kill him where he stands, before a sound
can pass his lips. For you it is to say yes or no.
Babalatchi cannot be far now."

He straightened himself up, taking his arm off
her shoulder, and confronted Almayer, who looked
at them both with an expression of concentrated
fury.

"No! " she cried, clinging to Dain in wild alarm.
"No, kill me! Then perhaps he will let you go.
You do not know the mind of a wliite man. He
would rather see me dead than standing where I
am. Forgive me, your slave, but you must not."
She fell at his feet sobbing violently and repeating,
"Kill me! Kill me!"

"I want 3^ou alive," said Almayer, speaking also

240 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

in Malay, with sombre calmness. " You go, or he
hangs. Will you obey ? "

Dain shook Nina off, and, making a sudden lunge,
struck Almayer full in the chest with the handle
of his kriss, keeping the point towards himself.

" Hai, look ! It was easy for me to turn the
point the other way," he said in his even voice.
''Go, Tuan Putih," he added with dignity. "I
give you your life, my life, and her life. I am the
slave of this woman's desire, and she wills it so."

There was not a glimmer of light in the sky
now, and the tops of the trees were as invisible as
their trunks, being lost in the mass of clouds that
hung low over the woods, the clearing, and the
river. Every outline had disappeared in the intense
blackness that seemed to have destroyed everything
but space. Only the fire glimmered like a star
forgotten in this annihilation of all visible things,
and nothing was heard after Dain ceased speaking
but the sobs of Nina, whom he held in his arms,
kneeling beside the fire. Almayer stood looking
down at them in gloomy thoughtfulness. As he
was opening his lips to speak they were startled
by a cry of warning by the riverside, followed by
the splash of many paddles and the sound of
voices.

" Babalatchi ! " shouted Dain, lifting up Nina as
he got upon his feet quickly.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 241

" Ada ! Ada ! " came the answer from the pant-
ing statesman, who ran up the path and stood
amongst them. "Run to my canoe," he said to
Dain excitedly, without taking any notice of Al-
mayer. " Run ! we must go. That woman has
told them all ! "

" What woman ? " asked Dain, looking at Nina.
Just then there was only one woman in the whole
world for him.

" The she-dog with white teeth ; the seven times
accursed slave of Bulangi. She yelled at Abdulla's
gate till she woke up all Sambir. Now the white
officers are coming, guided by her and Reshid. If
you want to live, do not look at me, but go ! "

" How do you know this ? " asked Almayer.

" Oh, Tuan ! what matters how I know ! I have
only one eye, but I saw lights in Abdulla's house and
in his campong as we were paddling past. I have
ears, and while we lay under the bank I have heard
the messengers sent out to the white men's house."

*•' Will you depart without that woman who is my
daughter ? " said Almayer, addressing Dain, while
Babalatchi stamped with impatience, muttering,
"■ Run ! Run at once ! "

" No," answered Dain, steadily, " I will not go ; to
no man will I abandon this woman."

" Then kill me and escape yourself," sobbed out
Nina.

242 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

He clasped her close, looking at her tenderly, and
whispered, "We will never part, O Nina! "

" I shall not stay here any longer," broke in
Babalatchi, angrly. " This is great foolishness. No
woman is worth a man's life. I am an old man, and
I know."

He picked up his staff, and, turning to go, looked
at Dain as if offering him his last chance of escape.
But Dain's face was hidden amongst Nina's black
tresses, and he did not see this last appealing
glance.

Babalatchi vanished in the darkness. Shortly after
his disappearance they heard the war canoe leave the
landing-place in the swish of the numerous paddles
dipped in the water together. Almost at the same
time Ali came up from the riverside, two paddles on
his shoulder.

" Our canoe is hidden up the creek, Tuan
Almayer," he said, " in the dense bush where the
forest comes down to the water. I took it there
because I heard from Babalatchi's paddlers that the
white men are coming here."

" Wait for me there," said Almayer, " but keep
the canoe hidden."

He remained silent, listening to All's footsteps,
then turned to Nina.

" Nina," he said sadly, " will you have no pity
for me?"

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 243

There was no answer. She did not even turn her
head, which was pressed close to Dain's breast.

He made a movement as if to leave them and
stopped. By the dim glow of the burning-out fire
he saw their two motionless figures. The woman's
back turned to him with the long black hair stream-
ing down over the white dress, and Dain's calm
face looking at him above her head.

"I cannot," he muttered to himself. After a
long pause he spoke again a little lower, but in an
unsteady voice, " It would be too great a disgrace.
I am a white man." He broke down suddenly
there, and went on tearfully, '■^ I am a white man,
and of good family. Very good family," he re-
peated, weeping bitterly. " It would be a disgrace
... all over the islands, . . . the only white man
on the east coast. No, it cannot be . . . white
men finding my daughter with this Malay. My
daughter!" he cried aloud, with a ring of despair
in his voice.

He recovered his composure after a while and
said distinctly —

" I will never forgive you, Nina — never ! If
you were to come back to me now, tlie memory of
this night would poison all my life. I shall try
to forget. I have no daughter. There used to be
a half-caste woman in my house, but she is going
even now. You, Dain, or whatever your name may

244 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

be, I shall take you and that woman to the island at
the mouth of the river myself. Come with me."

He led the way, following the bank as far as the
forest. Ali answered to his call, and, pushing their
way through the dense bush, they stepped into
the canoe hidden under the overhanging branches.
Dain laid Nina in the bottom, and sat holding her
head on his knees. Almayer and Ali each took
up a paddle. As they were going to push out Ali
hissed warningly. All listened.

In the great stillness before the bursting out of
the thunder-storm they could hear the sound of oars
working regularly in their row-locks. The sound
approached steadily, and Dain, looking through the
branches, could see the faint shape of a big white
boat. A woman's voice said in a cautious tone —

"There is the place where you may land, white
men ; a little higher — there ! "

The boat was passing them so close in the nar-
row creek that the blades of the long oars nearly
touched the canoe.

" Way enough ! Stand by to jump on shore !
He is alone and unarmed," was the quiet order in
a man's voice, and in Dutch.

Somebody else whispered : " I think I can see a
glimmer of a fire through the bush." And then
the boat floated past them, disappearing instantly
in the darkness.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 246

" Now," whispered Ali, eagerly, " let us push out
and paddle away."

The little canoe swung into the stream, and as
it sprung forward in response to the vigorous dig
of the paddles they could hear an angry shout.

" He is not by the fire. Spread out, men, and
search for him ! "

Blue lights blazed out in different [)arts of the
clearing, and the shrill voice of a woman cried in
accents of rage and pain —

" Too late ! O senseless white men I He has
escaped! "

CHAPTER XII.

" This is the place," said Dain, indicating with the
blade of his paddle a small islet about a mile ahead
of the canoe — " this is the place where Babalatchi
promised that a boat from the prau would come for
me when the sun is overhead. We shall wait for
that boat there."

Almayer, steering in the stern, nodded without
speaking, and by a slight sweep of his paddle laid
the head of the canoe in the required direction.

They were just leaving the southern outlet of the
Pantai, which lay behind them in a straight and long
vista of water shining between two walls of thick
verdure that ran downwards and towards each other,
till at last they joined and sank together in the far-
away distance. The sun, rising above the calm
waters of the Straits, marked its own path by a
streak of light that glided upon the sea and darted
up the wide reach of the river, a hurried messenger
of light and life to the gloomy forests of the coast;
and in this radiance of sun's pathway floated the
black canoe heading for the islet which lay bathed

246

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 247

in sunshine, the yellow sands of its encircling beach
shining like an inlaid golden disc on the polished
steel of the unwrinkled sea. To the north and
south of it rose other islets, joyous in their brilliant
colouring of green and yellow, and on the main
coast the sombre line of mangrove bushes ended to
the southward in the reddish cliffs of Tanjong
Mirrah, advancing into the sea, steep and shadow-
less under the clear light of the early morning.

The bottom of the canoe grated upon the sand as
the little craft ran up on the beach. Ali leaped on
shore and held on while Dain stepped out carrying
in his arms Nina, exhausted by the events and the
long travelling during the night. Almayer was the
last to leave the boat, and together with Ali ran it
higher up on the beach. Then Ali, tired out by the
long paddling, laid down in the shade of the canoe,
and incontinently fell asleep. Almayer sat sideways
on the gunwale, and with his arms crossed on his
l)reast, looked to the southward upon the sea.

After carefully laying down Nina in the shade of
the bushes growing in the middle of the islet, Dain
threw himself down beside her and watched in silent
concern the tears that ran down from under her
closed eyelids, and lost themselves in that fine sand
upon which they both were lying face to face.
These tears and this sorrow were for him a pro-
found and disquieting mystery. Now, when the

248 ALMAYEK'S KOLLY.

danger was past, why should she grieve? He
doubted her love no more than he would have
doubted the fact of his own existence, but as he
lay looking ardently in her face, watching her tears,
her parted lips, her very breath, he was uneasily
conscious of something in her he could not under-
stand. Doubtless she had the wisdom of perfect
beings. He sighed. He felt something invisible
that stood between them, something that would let
him approach her so far, but no farther. No desire,
no longing, no effort of will or length of life could
destroy this vague feeling of their difference. With
awe but also with great pride he concluded that it
was her own incomparable perfection. She was
his, and yet she was like a woman from another
world. His ! His ! He exulted in the glorious
thought ; nevertheless her tears pained him.

With a wisp of her own hair which he took in his
hand with timid reverence he tried in an access of
clumsy tenderness to dry the tears that trembled on
her eyelashes. He had his reward in a fleeting smile
that brightened her face for the short fraction of a
second, but soon the tears fell faster than ever, and
he could bear it no more. He rose and walked
towards Almayer, who still sat absorbed in his
contemplation of the sea. It was a very very long
time since he had seen the sea — that sea that leads
everywhere, brings everything, and takes away so

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 249

much. He had ahnost forgotten why he was there,
and dreamil}^ he could see all his past life on the
smooth and boundless surface that glittered before
his eyes.

Dain's hand laid on Almayer's shoulder recalled
him with a start from some country very far away
indeed. He turned round, but his eyes seemed to
look rather at the place where Dain stood than at
the man himself. Dain felt uneasy under the
unconscious gaze.

" What ? " said Almayer.

" She is crying," murmured Dain, softly.

" She is crying ! Why? " asked Almayer, indif-
ferently.

" I came to ask you. My Ranee smiles when look-
ing at the man she loves. It is the white woman
that is crying now. You would know."

Almayer shrugged his shoulders and turned away
again towards the sea.

" Go, Tuan Putih," urged Dain. " Go to her ; her
tears are more terrible to me than the anger of gods."

*"' Are they ? You shall see them more than once.
She told me she could not live without you,"
answered Almayer, speaking without the faintest
spark of expression in his face, "so it behoves you
to go to her quick, for fear you may find her dead."

He burst into a loud and unpleasant laugh which
made Dain stare at him with some apprehension.

250 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

but got off the gunwale of the boat and moved
slowly towards Nina, glancing up at the sun as he
walked.

- And you go when the sun is overhead ? " he
said.

"Yes, Tuan. Then we go," answered Dain.

"I have not long to wait," muttered Almayer.
" It is most important for me to see you go. Both
of you. Most important," he repeated, stopping
short and looking at Dain fixedly.

He went on again towards Nina, and Dain re-
mained behind. Almayer approached his daughter
and stood for a time looking down on her. She did
not open her eyes, but hearing footsteps near her,
murmured in a low sob, "Dain."

Almayer hesitated for a minute and then sank on
the sand by her side. She, not hearing a responsive
word, not feeling a touch, opened her eyes — saw her
father, and sat up suddenly with a movement of
terror.

" Oh, father ! " she murmured faintly, and in that
word there was expressed regret and fear and dawn-
ing hope.

" I shall never forgive you, Nina," said Almayer,
in a dispassionate voice. " You have torn my heart
from me while I dreamt of your happiness. You
have deceived me. Your eyes that for me were
like truth itself lied to me in every glance — for

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 261

how long ? You know that best. When you were
caressing my cheek you were counting the hours to
the sunset that was the signal for your meeting with
that man — there I "

He ceased, and they both sat silent side by side,
not looking at each other, but gazing at the vast
expanse of the sea. Almayer's words had dried
Nina's tears, and her look grew hard as she stared
before her into the limitless sheet of blue that
shone limpid, uuwaving, and steady like heaven
itself. He looked at it also, but his features had
lost all expression, and life in his eyes seemed to
have gone out. The face was a blank, without a
sign of emotion, feeling, reason, or even knowledge
of itself. All passion, regret, grief, hope, or anger
— all were gone, erased by the hand of fate, as if
after this last stroke life was over and there was no
need for any record. Those few who saw Almayer
during the short period of his remaining days were
always impressed by the sight of that face that
seemed to know nothing of what went on within,
like the blank wall of a prison enclosing sin, regrets,
and pain, and wasted life, in the cold indifference of
mortar and stones.

" What is there to forgive ? " asked Nina, not
addressing Almayer directly, but more as if arguing
with herself. " Can I not live my own life as you
have lived yours? The path you would have

252 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

wished me to follow has been closed to me by no
fault of mine."

" You never told me," muttered Almayer.

" You never asked me," she answered, " and I
thought you were like the others and did not care.
I bore the memory of my humiliation alone, and
Avhy should I tell you that it came to me because
I am your daughter? I knew you could not avenge
me."

"And yet I was thinking of that only," inter-
rupted Almayer, " and I wanted to give you years
of happiness for the short day of your suffering.
I only knew of one way."

" Ah ! but it was not my way ! " she replied.
"' Could you give me happiness without life ?
Life ! " she repeated with sudden energy that sent
the word ringing over the sea. " Life that means
power and love," she added in a low voice.

"That," said Almayer, pointing his finger at
Dain standing close by and looking at them in
curious wonder.

" Yes, that ! " she replied, looking her father full
in the face and noticing for the first time with a
slight gasp of fear the unnatural rigidity of his
features.

" I would have rather strangled you with my
own hands," said Almayer, in an expressionless
Toice which was such a contrast to the desperate

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 263

bitterness of his feelings that it surprised even
himself. He asked himself who spoke, and, after
looking slowly round as if expecting to see some-
body, turned again his eyes towards the sea.

" You say that because you do not understand the
meaning of my words," she said sadly. " Between
you and my mother there never was any love.
When I returned to Sambir I found the place
which I thought would be a peaceful refuge for
my heart, filled with weariness and hatred — and
mutual contempt. I have listened to your voice
and to her voice. Then I saw that you could not
understand me ; for was not I part of that woman ?
Of her who was the regret and shame of your life '!
I had to choose — I hesitated. Why were you so
blind ? Did you not see me struggling before your
eyes ? Then, when he came, all doubt disappeared,
and I saw only the light of the blue and cloudless
heaven "

" I will tell you the rest," interrupted Almayer :
" when that man came I also saw the blue and the
sunshine of the sky. A thunderbolt has fallen
from that sky, and suddenly all is still and dai"k
around me for ever. I will never forgive you,
Nina; and to-morroAv I shall forget you! I shall
never forgive you," he repeated with mechanical
obstinacy while she sat, her head bowed down as if
afraid to look at her father.

264 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

To him it seemed of the utmost importance that
he should assure her of his intention of never
forgiving. He was convinced that his faith in her
had been the foundation of his hopes, the motive
of his courage, of his determination to live and
struggle, and to be victorious for her sake. And
now his faith was gone, destroyed by her own
hands; destroyed cruelly, treacherously, in the
dark ; in the very moment of success. In the
utter wreck of his affections and of all his feelings,
in the chaotic disorder of his thoughts, above the
confused sensation of physical pain that wrapped
him up in a sting as of a whiplash curling round
him from his shoulders down to his feet, only one
idea remained clear and definite — not to forgive
her; only one vivid desire — to forget her. And
this must be made clear to her — and to himself —
by frequent repetition. That was his idea of his
duty to himself — to his race — to his respectable
connections ; to the whole universe unsettled and
shaken by this frightful catastrophe of his life.
He saw it clearly and believed he was a strong
man. He had always prided himself upon his un-
flinching firmness. And yet he was afraid. She
had been all in all to him. What if he should let
the memory of his love for her weaken the sense
of his dignity ? She was a remarkable woman ;
he could see that ; all the latent greatness of his

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 255

nature — in which he honestly believed — had been
transfused into that slight, girlish figure. Great
things could be done ! What if he should suddenly
take her to his heart, forget his shame, and pain,
and anger, and — follow her ! What if he changed
his heart if not his skin and made her life easier
between the two loves that would guard her from
any mischance ! His heart yearned for her. What
if he should say that his love for her was greater
than . . .

" I will never forgive you, Nina ! " he shouted,
leaping up suddenly in the sudden fear of his dream.

This was the last time in his life when he was
heard to raise his voice. Henceforth he spoke
always in a monotonous whisper like an instru-
ment of which all the strings but one are broken
in a last ringing clamour under a heavy blow.

She rose to her feet and looked at him. The very
violence of his cry soothed her in an intuitive con-
viction of his love, and she hugged to her breast the
lamentable remnants of that affection with the
unscrupulous greediness of women who cling des-
perately to the very scraps and rags of love, any
kind of love, as a thing that of right belongs to them
and is the very breath of their life. She put both
her hands on Almayer's shoulders, and looking at
him half tenderly, half playfully, she said —

"You speak so because you love me."

256 ALM AVER'S FOLLY.

Almayer shook his head.

"Yes, you do," she insisted softly; then after a
short pause she added, " and you will never forget
me."

Almayer shivered slightly. She could not have
said a more cruel thing.

" Here is the boat coming noAv," said Dain, his
arm outstretched towards a black speck on the water
between the coast and the islet.

They all looked at it and remained standing in
silence till the little canoe came gently on the beach
and a man landed and walked towards them. He
stopped some distance off and hesitated.

" What news?" asked Dain.

" We have had orders secx^etly and in the night to
take off from this islet a man and a woman. I see
the woman. Which of you is the man ? "

" Come, delight of my eyes," said Dain to Nina.
''Now we go, and your voice shall be for my ears
only. You have spoken your last words to the Tuan
Putih, your father. Come."

She hesitated for a while, looking at Almayer, who
kept his eyes steadily on the sea, then she touched his
forehead in a lingering kiss, and a tear — one of her
tears — fell on his cheek and ran down his immovable
face.

" Good-bye," she whispered, and remained irreso-
lute till he pushed her suddenly into Dain's arms.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 267

" If you have any pity for me," murmured Al-
mayer, as if repeating some sentence learned by heart,
"take that woman away."

He stood very straight, his shoulders thrown back,
his head held high, and looked at them as they went
down the beach to the canoe, walking enlaced in each
other's arms. He looked at the line of their foot-
steps marked in the sand. He followed their figures
moving in the crude blaze of the vertical sun, in that
light violent and vibrating, like a triumphal flourish
of brazen trumpets. He looked at the man's brown
shoulders, at the red sarong round his waist ; at the
tall, slender, dazzling white £gure he supported. He
looked at the white dress, at the falling masses of the
long black hair. He looked at them embarking, and
at the canoe growing smaller in the distance, with
rage, despair, and regret in his heart, and on his
face a peace as that of a carved image of oblivion.
Inwardly he felt himself torn to pieces, but Ali —
who now aroused — stood close to his master, saw on
his features the blank expression of those who live in
that hopeless calm which sightless eyes only can give.

The canoe disappeared, and Almayer stood motion-
less with his eyes fixed on its wake. Ali from under
the shade of his hand examined the coast curiously.
As the sun declined, the Seabreeze sprang up from
the northward and shivered with its breath the
glassy surface of the water,
s

258 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

" Dapat ! " exclaimed Ali, joyously. " Got him,
master ! Got prau ! Not there ! Look more Tanah
Mirrah side. Aha ! That way ! Master, see ? Now
plain. See ? "

Almayer followed All's forefinger with his eyes for
a long time in vain. At last he sighted a triangular
patch of yellow light on the red background of the
cliffs of Tanjong Mirrah. It was the sail of the
prau that had caught the sunlight and stood out,
distinct with its gay tint, on the dark red of the
cape. The yellow triangle crept slowly from cliff
to cliff, till it cleared the last point of land and
shone brilliantly for a fleeting minute on the blue
of the open sea. Then the prau bore up to the
southward : the light went out of the sail, and
suddenly the vessel itself disappeared, vanishing
in the shadow of the steep headland that looked
on, patient and lonely, watching over the empty
sea.

Almayer never moved. Round the little islet the
air was full of the talk of the rippling water. The
crested wavelets ran up the beach audaciously, joy-
ously, with the lightness of young life, and died
suddenly, unresistingly, and graciously, in the wide
curves of transparent foam on the yellow sand.
Above, the white clouds sailed rapidly southwards
as if intent upon overtaking something. Ali seemed
anxious.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 269

" Master," he said timidly, " time to get house
now. Long way off to pull. All ready, sir."

" Wait," whispered Almayer.

Now she was gone his business was to forget, and
he had a strange notion that it should be done
systematically and in order. To Ali's great dis-
may he fell on his hands and knees, and, creeping
along the sand, erased carefully with his hand all
traces of Nina's footsteps. He piled up small
heaps of sand, leaving behind him a line of
miniature graves right down to the water. After
burying the last slight imprint of Nina's slipper
he stood up, and, turning his face towards the head-
land where he had last seen the prau, he made an
effort to shout out loud again his firm resolve to
never forgive. Ali, watching him uneasily, saw
only his lips move, but heard no sound. He
brought his foot down with a stamp. He was a
firm man — firm as a rock. Let her go. He
never had a daughter. He would forget. He was
forgetting already.

Ali approached him again, insisting on immediate
departure, and this time he consented, and they
went together towards their canoe, Almayer leading.
For all his firmness he looked very dejected and
feeble as he di-agged his feet slowly thi'ough the
sand on the beach; and by his side — invisible to
Ali — stalked that particular fiend whose mission it

2G0 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

is to jog the memories of men, lest they should
forget the meaning of life. He whispered into
Almayer's ear a childish prattle of many years ago.
Almayer, his head bent on one side, seemed to listen
to his invisible companion, but his face was like the
face of a man that has died struck from behind — a
face from which all feelings and all expression are
suddenly wiped off by the hand of unexpected death.

They slept on the river that night, mooring their
canoe under the bushes and lying down in the
bottom side by side, in the absolute exhaustion that
kills hunger, thirst, all feeling and all thought in
the overpowering desire for that deep sleep which is
like the temporary annihilation of the tired body.
Next day they started again and fought doggedly
with the current all the morning, till about midday
they reached the settlement and made fast their little
craft to the jetty of Lingard and Co. Almayer
walked straight to the house, and Ali followed,
paddles on shoulder, thinking that he would like to
eat something. As they crossed the front courtyard
they noticed the abandoned look of the place. Ali
looked in at the different servants' houses: all were
empty. In the back courtyard there was the same
absence of sound and life. In the cooking shed the
fire was out and the black embers were cold. A
tall, lean man came stealthily out of the banana

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 261

plantation, and went away rapidly across the open
space, looking at them with big, frightened eyes over
his shoulder. Some vagabond without a master;
there were many such in the settlement, and they
looked upon Almayer as their patron. They prowled
about his premises and picked their living there,
sure that nothing worse could befall them than a
shower of curses when they got in the way of the
white man, whom they trusted and liked, and called
a fool amongst themselves. In the house, which
Almayer entered through the back verandah, the
only living thing that met his eyes was his small
monkey, which, hungry and unnoticed for the last
two days, began to cry and complain in monkey
language as soon as it caught sight of the familiar
face. Almayer soothed it with a few words and
ordered Ali to bring in some bananas; then while
Ali was gone to get them he stood in the doorway
of the front verandah looking at the chaos of over-
turned furniture. Finally he picked up the table
and sat on it, while the monkey let itself down from
the roof-stick by its chain and perched on his shoul-
der. When the bananas came they had their break-
fast together; both hungry, both eating greedily,
and showering the skins round them recklessly, in
the trusting silence of perfect friendship. Ali went
away, grumbling, to cook some rice himself, for all
the women about the house had disappeared ; he did

262 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

not know where. Almayer did not seem to care,
and, after he finished eating, he sat on the table
swinging his legs and staring at the river, as if lost
in thought.

After some time he got up and went to the door
of a room on the right of the verandah. That was
the office. The office of Lingard and Co. He very
seldom went in there. There was no business now,
and he did not want an office. The door was locked,
and he stood biting his lower lip, trjdng to think of
the place where the key could be. Suddenly he
remembered: in the women's room hung upon a
nail. He went over to the doorway where the red
curtain hung down in motionless folds, and hesitated
for a moment before pushing it aside with his shoul-
der, as if breaking down some solid obstacle. A
great square of sunshine entering through the win-
dow lay on the floor. On the left he saw Mrs.
Almayer's big wooden chest, the lid thrown back,
empty; near it the brass nails of Nina's European
trunk shone in the large initials N. A. on the cover.
A few of Nina's dresses hung on wooden pegs,
stiffened in a look of offended dignity at their aban-
donment. He remembered making the pegs him-
self and noticed that they were very good pegs.
Where was the key? He looked round and saw it
near the door where he stood. It was red with rust.
He felt very much annoyed at that, and directly

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 263

afterwards wondered at his own feeling. What did
it matter ? There soon would be no key — no door
— nothing! He paused, key in hand, and asked
himself whether he knew well what he was about.
He went out again on the verandah and stood by the
table thinking. The monkey jumped down, and,
snatching at a banana skin, absorbed itself in pick-
ing it to shreds industriously.

"Forget!" muttered Almayer, and that word
started before him a sequence of events, a detailed
programme of things to do. He knew perfectly well
what was to be done now. First this, then that, and
then forgetfulness would come easy. Very easy.
He had a fixed idea that if he should not forget
before he died he would have to remember to all
eternity. Certain things had to be taken out of his
life, stamped out of sight, destroyed, forgotten. For
a long time he stood in deep thought, lost in the
alarming possibilities of unconquerable memory,
with the fear of death and eternity before him.
" Eternity ! " he said aloud, and the sound of that
word recalled him out of his reverie. The monkey
started, dropped the skin, and grinned up at him
amicably.

He went towards the office door and with some
difficulty managed to open it. He entered in a
cloud of dust that rose under his feet. Books open,
with torn pages, bestrewed the floor; other books

264 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

lay about grimy and black, looking as if they had
never been opened. Account books. In those
books he had intended to keep day by day a record
of his rising fortunes. Long time ago. A very
long time. For many years there has been no
record to keep on the blue and red ruled pages! In
the middle of the room the big office desk, with one
of its legs broken, careened over like the hull of a
stranded ship ; most of the drawers had fallen out,
disclosing heaps of paper yellow with age and dirt.
The revolving office chair stood in its place, but he
found the pivot set fast when he tried to turn it.
No matter. He desisted, and his eyes wandered
slowly from object to object. All those things had
cost a lot of money at the time. The desk, the
paper, the torn books, and the broken shelves, all
under a thick coat of dust. The very dust and
bones of a dead and gone business. He looked at
all these things, all that was left after so many years
of work, of strife, of weariness, of discouragement,
conquered so many times. And all for what? He
stood thinking mournfully of his past life till he
heard suddenly the clear voice of a child speaking
amongst all this wreck, ruin, and waste. He started
with a great fear in his heart, and feverishly began
to rake in the papers scattered on the floor, broke
the chair into bits, splintered the drawers by
banging them against the desk, and made a big

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 265

heap of all that rubbish in one corner of the
room.

He came out quickly, slammed the door after
him, turned the key, and, taking it out, ran to the
front rail of the verandah, and, with a great swing
of his arm, sent the key whizzing into the river.
This done, he went back slowly to the table, called
the monkey down, unhooked its chain, and induced
it to remain quiet in the breast of his jacket. Then
he sat again on the table and looked fixedly at the
door of the room he had just left. He listened also
intently. He heard a dry sound of rustling; sharp
cracks as of dry wood snapping; a whirr like of a
bird's wings when it rises suddenly, and then he
saw a thin stream of smoke come through the key-
hole. The monkey struggled under his coat. Ali
appeared with his eyes starting out of his head.

"Master! House burn!" he shouted.

Almayer stood u[), holding by the table. He
could hear the yells of alarm and surprise in
the settlement. Ali wrung his hands, lamenting
aloud.

"Stop this noise, fool!" said Almayer, quietly.
" Pick up my hammock and blankets and take them
to the other house. Quick, now!"

The smoke burst through the crevices of the door,
and Ali, with the hammock in his arms, cleared
in one bound the steps of the verandah.

266 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

"It has caught well," muttered Almayer to him-
self.

"Be quiet, Jack," he added, as the monkey made
a frantic effort to escape from its confinement.

The door split from top to bottom, and a rush of
flame and smoke drove Almayer away from the table
to the front rail of the verandah. He held on there
till a great roar overhead assured him that the roof
was ablaze. Then he ran down the steps of the
verandah, coughing, half choked with the smoke that
pursued him in bluish wreaths curling about his
head.

On the other side of the ditch, separating Al-
mayer's courtyard from the settlement, a crowd of
the inhabitants of Sambir looked at the burning
house of the white man. In the calm air the flames
rushed up on high, coloured pale brick-red, with
violent gleams in the strong sunshine. The thin
column of smoke ascended straight and unwaving
till it lost itself in the clear blue of the sky, and in
the great empty space between the two houses the
interested spectators could see the tall figure of the
Tuan Putih, with bowed head and dragging feet,
walking slowly away from the fire towards the shel-
ter of "Almayer's Folly."

In that manner did Almayer move into his new
house. He took possession of the new ruin, and in
the undying folly of his heart set himself to wait in

ALM AVER'S FOLLY. 267

anxiety and pain for that forgetfulness which was so
slow to come. He had done all he could. Every
vestige of Nina's existence had been destroyed ; and
now with every sunrise he asked himself whether
the longed-for oblivion would come before sunset,
whether it would come before he died ? He wanted
to live only long enough to be able to forget, and the
tenacity of his memory filled him with dread and
horror of death; for should it come before he could
accomplish the purpose of his life he would have to
remember for ever ! He also longed for loneliness.
He wanted to be alone. But he was not. In the
dim light of the rooms with their closed shutters,
in the bright sunshine of the verandah, wherever he
went, whichever way he turned, he saw the small
figure of a little maiden with pretty olive face, with
long black hair, her little pink robe slipping off her
shoulders, her big eyes looking up at hira in the
tender trustfulness of a petted child. Ali did not
see anything, but he also was aware of the presence
of a child in the house. In his long talks by the
evening fires of the settlement he used to tell his
intimate friends of Almayer's strange doings. His
master had turned sorcerer in his old age. Ali said
that often when Tuan Putih had retired for the
night he could hear him talking to something in his
room. Ali thought that it was a spirit in the shape
of a child. He knew his master spoke to a child.

268 ALMAYER'S FOLLV.

from certain expressions and words his master used
His master spoke in Malay a little, but mostly in
English, which he, Ali, could understand. Master
spoke to the child at times tenderly, then he would
weep over it, laugh at it, scold it, beg of it to go
away : curse it. It was a bad and stubborn spirit.
Ali thought his master had imprudently called it
up, and now could not get rid of it. His master
was very brave ; he was not afraid to curse this
spirit in the very Presence ; and once he fought with
it. Ali, he heard a great noise, as of running about
inside the room, and groans. His master groaned;
spirits do not groan. His master was brave, but
foolish. You cannot hurt a spirit. Ali expected
to find his master dead next morning, but he came
out very early, looking much older than the day
before, and had no food all day.

So far Ali to the settlement. To Captain Ford
he was much more communicative, for the good
reason that Captain Ford had the purse and gave
orders. On each of Ford's monthly visits to Sambir
Ali had to go on board with a report about the
inhabitant of " Almayer's Folly." On his first visit
to Sambir, after Nina's departure. Ford had taken
charge of Almayer's affairs. They were not cum-
bersome. The shed for the storage of goods was
empty, the boats had disappeared, appropriated —
generally in night-time — by various citizens of

ALMAYER'S I'OI.I.V. 269

Sambir in need of means of transport. During a
great flood the jetty of Lingard and Co. left the bank
and floated down the river, probably in search of
more cheerful surroundings ; even the flock of geese
— "the only geese on the east coast" — departed
somewhere, preferring the unknown dangers of the
bush to the desolation of their old home. As time
went on the grass grew over the black patch of
ground where the old house used to stand, and noth-
ing remained to mark the place of the dwelling that
had sheltered Almayer's young hopes, his foolish
dream of splendid future, his awakening, and his
despair.

Ford did not often visit Almayer, for visiting
Almayer was not a pleasant task. At first he used
to respond listlessly to the old seaman's boisterous
inquiries about his health ; he even made efforts to
talk, asking for news in a voice that made it per-
fectly clear that no news from this world had any
interest for him. Then gradually he became more
silent — not sulkily — but as if he was forgetting
how to speak. He used also to hide in the darkest
rooms of the house, where Ford had to seek him out.
guided by the patter of the monkey galloping before
him. The monkey was always there to receive and
introduce Ford. The little animal seemed to have
taken complete charge of its master, and whenever it
wished for his presence on the verandah it would

270 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

tug perseveringly at his jacket, till Almayer obedi-
ently came out into the sunshine, which he seemed
to dislike so much.

One morning Ford found him sitting on the floor
of the verandah, his back against the wall, his legs
stretched stiffly out, his arms hanging by his side.
His expressionless face, his eyes open Avide, with
immobile pupils, and the rigidity of his pose, made
him look like an immense man-doll broken and flung
there out of the way. As Ford came up the steps
he turned his head slowly.

"Ford," he murmured from the floor, "I cannot
forget."

"Can't you?" said Ford, innocently, with an
attempt at joviality : " I wish I was like you. I am
losing my memory — age, I suppose ; only the other
day my mate "

He stopped, for Almayer had got up, stumbled,
and steadied himself on his friend's arm.

"Hallo! You are better to-day. Soon be all
right," said Ford, cheerfully, but feeling rather
scared.

Almayer let go his arm and stood very straight,
with his head up and shoulders thrown back, looking
stonily at the multitude of suns shining in ripples
of the river. His jacket and his loose trousers
flapped in the breeze on his thin limbs.

"Let her go!" he whispered in a grating voice.

ALMAYER':, ^'OLLY. 271

"Let her go. To-morrow I shall forget. I am a
firm man, . . . firm as a . . . rock, . . . firm . . ."

Ford looked at his face — and fled. The skipper
was a tolerably firm man himself — as those who had
sailed with him could testify — but Almayer's firm-
ness was altogether too much for his fortitude.

Next time the steamer called in Sambir Ali came
on board early with a grievance. He complained
to Ford that Jim-Eng the Chinaman had invaded
Almayer's house, and actually had lived there for
the last month.

"And they both smoke," added Ali.

"Phew! Opium, you mean?"

Ali nodded, and Ford remained thoughtful ; then
he muttered to himself, " Poor devil ! The sooner
the better now." In the afternoon he walked up to
the house.

"What are you doing here?" he asked of Jim-
Eng, whom he found strolling about on the verandah.

Jim-Eng explained in bad Malay, and speaking in
that monotonous, uninterested voice of an opium
smoker pretty far gone, that his house was old, the
roof leaked, and the floor was rotten. So, being an
old friend for many, many years, he took his money,
his opium, and two pipes, and came to live in this
big house.

"There is plenty of room. He smokes, and I live
here. He will not smoke long," he concluded.

272 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

"Where is he now?" asked Ford.

"Inside. He sleeps," answered Jim-Eng, wearily.

Ford glanced in through the doorway. In ^he
dim light of the room he could see Almayer lying
on his back on the floor, his head on a wooden
pillow, the long white beard scattered over his
breast, the yellow skin of the face, the half-closed
eyelids showing the whites of the eye only. . . .

He shuddered and turned away. As he was leav-
ing he noticed a long strip of faded red silk, with
some Chinese letters on it, which Jim-Eng had just
fastened to one of the pillars.

"What's that?" he asked.

"That," said Jim-Eng, in his colourless voice,
"that is the name of the house. All the same like
my house. Very good name."

Ford looked at him for a while and went away.
He did not know what the crazy-looking maze of the
Chinese inscription on the red silk meant. Had he
asked Jim-Eng, that patient Chinaman would have
informed him with proper pride that its meaning
was: "House of heavenly delight."

In the evening of the same day Babalatchi called
on Captain Ford. The captain's cabin opened on
deck, and Babalatchi sat astride on the high step,
while Ford smoked his pipe on the settee inside.
The steamer was leaving next morning, and the old
statesman came as usual for a last chat.

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 273

"We had news from Bali last moon," remarked
Babalatchi . " A grandson is born to the old Rajah,
and there is great rejoicing." ,

Ford sat up interested.

"Yes," went on Babalatchi, in answer to Ford's
look. "I told him. That was before he began to
smoke."

"Well, and what?" asked Ford.

"I escaped with my life," said Babalatchi, with
perfect gravity, "because the white man is very
weak and fell as he rushed upon me." Then, after
a pause, he added, "She is mad with joy."

" Mrs. Almayer, you mean ? "

"Yes, she lives in our Rajah's house. She will
not die soon. Such women live a long time," said
Babalatchi, with a slight tinge of regret in his
voice. "She has dollars, and she lias buried them,
but we know where. We had much trouble with
those people. We had to pay a fine and listen to
threats from the white men, and now we have to be
careful." He sighed and remained silent for a long
while. Then with energy:

"There will be fighting. There is a breath of
war on the islands. Shall I live long enough to
see? . . . Ah, Tuan!" he went on, more quietly,
"the old times were best. Even I have sailed witli
Lanun men, and boarded in the night silent ships
with white sails. That was before a white Rajah

274 ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

ruled in Kuching. Then we fought amongst our-
selves and were happy. Now when we jBght with
you we can only die ! "

He rose to go. "Tuan," he said, "you remember
the girl that man Bulangi had? Her that caused
all the trouble?"

" Yes, " said Ford. " What of her ? "

"She grew thin and could not work. Then Bu-
langi, who is a thief and a pig-eater, gave her to me
for fifty dollars. I sent her amongst my women to
grow fat. I wanted to hear the sound of her laughter,
but she must have been bewitched, and . , . she
died two days ago. Nay, Tuan. Why do you speak
bad words? I am old — that is true — but why
should I not like the sight of a young face and the
sound of a young voice in my house ? " He paused,
and then added with a little mournful laugh, " I am
like a white man, talking too much of what is not
men's talk when they speak to one another."

And he went off looking very sad.

The crowd massed in a semicircle before the steps
of "Almayer's Folly," swayed silently backwards
and forwards, and opened out before the group of
white-robed and turbaned men advancing through
the grass towards the house. Abdulla walked first,
supported by Reshid and followed by all the Arabs
in Sambir. As they entered the lane made by the

ALMAYER'S FOLLY. 275

respectful crowd there was a subdued murmur of
voices, where the word " Mati " was the only one dis-
tinctly audible. Abdulla stopped and looked round
slowly.

"Is he dead?" he asked.

" May you live ! " answered the crowd in one
shout, and then there succeeded a breathless silence.

Abdulla made a few paces forward and found him-
self for the last time face to face with his old enemy.
Whatever he might have been once he was not dan-
gerous now, lying stiff and lifeless in the tender
light of the early day. The only white man on the
east coast was dead, and his soul, delivered from
the trammels of his earthly folly, stood now in the
presence of Infinite Wisdom. On the upturned face
there was that serene look which follows the sudden
relief from anguish and pain, and it testified silently
before the cloudless heaven that the man lying there
under the gaze of indifferent eyes had been per-
mitted to forget before he died.

Abdulla looked down sadly at this infidel he had
fought so long and had bested so many times. Such
was the reward of the faithful ! Yet in the Arab's
old heart there was a feeling of regret for that thing
gone out of his life. He was leaving fast behind
him friendships and enmities, successes and disap-
pointments— all that makes up a life; and before
him was only the end. Prayer would till u]> the

27G ALMAYER'S FOLLY.

remainder of the days allotted to the true believer!
He took in his hand the beads that hung at his
waist.

"I found him here, like this, in the morning,"
said Ali, in a low and awed voice.

Abdulla glanced coldly once more at the serene
face.

"Let us go," he said, addressing Reshid.

And as they passed through the crowd that fell
back before them, the beads in Abdulla's hand
clicked, while in a solemn whisper he breathed out
piously the name of Allah! The Merciful! The
Compassionate !

THF ENl*.

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
GARDEN CITV, N. Y.

THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

Santa Barbara

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