ing heart. One thing only disturbed
his happiness: his wife came out of her seclusion, importing her green
jacket, scant sarongs, shrill voice, and witch-like appearance, into his
quiet life in the small bungalow. And his daughter seemed to accept that
savage intrusion into their daily existence with wonderful equanimity. He
did not like it, but dared say nothing.

CHAPTER III.

The deliberations conducted in London have a far-reaching importance, and
so the decision issued from the fog-veiled offices of the Borneo Company
darkened for Almayer the brilliant sunshine of the Tropics, and added
another drop of bitterness to the cup of his disenchantments. The claim
to that part of the East Coast was abandoned, leaving the Pantai river
under the nominal power of Holland. In Sambir there was joy and
excitement. The slaves were hurried out of sight into the forest and
jungle, and the flags were run up to tall poles in the Rajah's compound
in expectation of a visit from Dutch man-of-war boats.

The frigate remained anchored outside the mouth of the river, and the
boats came up in tow of the steam launch, threading their way cautiously
amongst a crowd of canoes filled with gaily dressed Malays. The officer
in command listened gravely to the loyal speeches of Lakamba, returned
the salaams of Abdulla, and assured those gentlemen in choice Malay of
the great Rajah's--down in Batavia--friendship and goodwill towards the
ruler and inhabitants of this model state of Sambir.

Almayer from his verandah watched across the river the festive
proceedings, heard the report of brass guns saluting the new flag
presented to Lakamba, and the deep murmur of the crowd of spectators
surging round the stockade. The smoke of the firing rose in white clouds
on the green background of the forests, and he could not help comparing
his own fleeting hopes to the rapidly disappearing vapour. He was by no
means patriotically elated by the event, yet he had to force himself into
a gracious behaviour when, the official reception being over, the naval
officers of the Commission crossed the river to pay a visit to the
solitary white man of whom they had heard, no doubt wishing also to catch
a glimpse of his daughter. In that they were disappointed, Nina refusing
to show herself; but they seemed easily consoled by the gin and cheroots
set before them by the hospitable Almayer; and sprawling comfortably on
the lame armchairs under the shade o