nd her in all kinds of places. Once in the abandoned
campong of Lakamba. Sometimes simply wandering in the bush. She had one
favourite spot we always made for at first. It was ten to one on finding
her there--a kind of a grassy glade on the banks of a small brook. Why
she preferred that place, I can't imagine! And such a job to get her
away from there. Had to drag her away by main force. Then, as the time
passed, she became quieter and more settled, like. Still, all my people
feared her greatly. It was my Nina that tamed her. You see the child was
naturally fearless and used to have her own way, so she would go to
her and pull at her sarong, and order her about, as she did everybody.
Finally she, I verily believe, came to love the child. Nothing could
resist that little one--you know. She made a capital nurse. Once when
the little devil ran away from me and fell into the river off the end
of the jetty, she jumped in and pulled her out in no time. I very nearly
died of fright. Now of course she lives with my serving girls, but does
what she likes. As long as I have a handful of rice or a piece of cotton
in the store she sha'n't want for anything. You have seen her. She
brought in the dinner with Ali."

"What! That doubled-up crone?"

"Ah!" said Almayer. "They age quickly here. And long foggy nights spent
in the bush will soon break the strongest backs--as you will find out
yourself soon."

"Dis . . . disgusting," growled the traveller.

He dozed off. Almayer stood by the balustrade looking out at the bluish
sheen of the moonlit night. The forests, unchanged and sombre, seemed
to hang over the water, listening to the unceasing whisper of the great
river; and above their dark wall the hill on which Lingard had buried
the body of his late prisoner rose in a black, rounded mass, upon
the silver paleness of the sky. Almayer looked for a long time at
the clean-cut outline of the summit, as if trying to make out through
darkness and distance the shape of that expensive tombstone. When he
turned round at last he saw his guest sleeping, his arms on the table,
his head on his arms.

"Now, look here!" he shouted, slapping the table with the palm of his
hand.

The naturalist woke up, and sat all in a heap, staring owlishly.

"Here!" went on Almayer, speaking very loud and thumping the table, "I
want to know. You, who say you have read all the books, just tell me
. . . why such infernal things are ever allowed. Here I am! Don