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
bringing fortune or disappointment happiness or pain, upon the same
varying but unchanged surface of glancing currents and swirling eddies.
For many years he had listened to the passionless and soothing 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, wondering 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 shoulder, 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 wriggle gently out from under
his grip. "Did I not tell you that I saw the wi