as those who had sailed with him could testify--but Almayer's
firmness was altogether too much for his fortitude.

Next time the steamer called in Sambir Ali came on board early with a
grievance. He complained to Ford that Jim-Eng the Chinaman had invaded
Almayer's house, and actually had lived there for the last month.

"And they both smoke," added Ali.

"Phew! Opium, you mean?"

Ali nodded, and Ford remained thoughtful; then he muttered to himself,
"Poor devil! The sooner the better now." In the afternoon he walked up
to the house.

"What are you doing here?" he asked of Jim-Eng, whom he found strolling
about on the verandah.

Jim-Eng explained in bad Malay, and speaking in that monotonous,
uninterested voice of an opium smoker pretty far gone, that his house was
old, the roof leaked, and the floor was rotten. So, being an old friend
for many, many years, he took his money, his opium, and two pipes, and
came to live in this big house.

"There is plenty of room. He smokes, and I live here. He will not smoke
long," he concluded.

"Where is he now?" asked Ford.

"Inside. He sleeps," answered Jim-Eng, wearily. Ford glanced in through
the doorway. In the dim light of the room he could see Almayer lying on
his back on the floor, his head on a wooden pillow, the long white beard
scattered over his breast, the yellow skin of the face, the half-closed
eyelids showing the whites of the eye only. . . .

He shuddered and turned away. As he was leaving he noticed a long strip
of faded red silk, with some Chinese letters on it, which Jim-Eng had
just fastened to one of the pillars.

"What's that?" he asked.

"That," said Jim-Eng, in his colourless voice, "that is the name of the
house. All the same like my house. Very good name."

Ford looked at him for awhile and went away. He did not know what the
crazy-looking maze of the Chinese inscription on the red silk meant. Had
he asked Jim-Eng, that patient Chinaman would have informed him with
proper pride that its meaning was: "House of heavenly delight."

In the evening of the same day Babalatchi called on Captain Ford. The
captain's cabin opened on deck, and Babalatchi sat astride on the high
step, while Ford smoked his pipe on the settee inside. The steamer was
leaving next morning, and the old statesman came as usual for a last
chat.

"We had news from Bali last moon," remarked Babalatchi. "A grandson is
born to the old Rajah, and there is great