y longer," broke in Babalatchi, angrily. "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 Ali's footsteps, then turned to Nina.

"Nina," he said sadly, "will you have no pity for me?"

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 streaming 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 completely there, and went
on tearfully, "I am a white man, and of good family. Very good family,"
he repeated, 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, the 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
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 a