eard
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 he sat in the
canoe holding Nina's hands while waiting for Bulangi's return; and
Taminah, supporting 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 before 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 purely from the force of habit. As she approached
Sambir she could see the excitement and she heard with 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. She 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 t