ed with her tray before
her, when invited by Nina. For "Mem Putih" she had always a smile, but
the presence of Mrs. Almayer, the very sound of her shrill voice, was the
signal for a hurried departure.

To this girl Nina often spoke; the other inhabitants of Sambir seldom or
never heard the sound of her voice. They got used to the silent figure
moving in their midst calm and white-robed, a being from another world
and incomprehensible to them. Yet Nina's life for all her outward
composure, for all the seeming detachment from the things and people
surrounding her, was far from quiet, in consequence of Mrs. Almayer being
much too active for the happiness and even safety of the household. She
had resumed some intercourse with Lakamba, not personally, it is true
(for the dignity of that potentate kept him inside his stockade), but
through the agency of that potentate's prime minister, harbour master,
financial adviser, and general factotum. That gentleman--of Sulu
origin--was certainly endowed with statesmanlike qualities, although he
was totally devoid of personal charms. In truth he was perfectly
repulsive, possessing only one eye and a pockmarked face, with nose and
lips horribly disfigured by the small-pox. This unengaging individual
often strolled into Almayer's garden in unofficial costume, composed of a
piece of pink calico round his waist. There at the back of the house,
squatting on his heels on scattered embers, in close proximity to the
great iron boiler, where the family daily rice was being cooked by the
women under Mrs. Almayer's superintendence, did that astute negotiator
carry on long conversations in Sulu language with Almayer's wife. What
the subject of their discourses was might have been guessed from the
subsequent domestic scenes by Almayer's hearthstone.

Of late Almayer had taken to excursions up the river. In a small canoe
with two paddlers and the faithful Ali for a steersman he would disappear
for a few days at a time. All his movements were no doubt closely
watched by Lakamba and Abdulla, for the man once in the confidence of
Rajah Laut was supposed to be in possession of valuable secrets. The
coast population of Borneo believes implicitly in diamonds of fabulous
value, in gold mines of enormous richness in the interior. And all those
imaginings are heightened by the difficulty of penetrating far inland,
especially on the north-east coast, where the Malays and the river tribes
of Dyak