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, without 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 staring 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 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
torturing 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 experience 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 apparition, which eluded his grasp, and he brought up
heavily against the wall. Quick as lightning he turned round and pursued
fiercely the mysterious figure fleeing from him with piercing shrieks
that were like fuel to the flames of his anger. Over the furniture,
round the overturned table,