he answer to all the
questionings of her heart. She understood now the reason and the aim of
life; and in the triumphant unveiling of that mystery she threw away
disdainfully her past with its sad thoughts, its bitter feelings, 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 Abdulla'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 will live far away in splendour and
might. When I 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 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!"

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