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she was burning the furniture, and tearing down the pretty curtains in her unreasoning hate of those signs of civilisation, Almayer, cowed by these outbursts of savage nature, meditated in silence on the best way of getting rid of her.  He thought of everything; even planned murder in an undecided and feeble sort of way, but dared do nothing — expecting every day the return of Lingard with news of some immense good fortune.  He returned indeed, but aged, ill, a ghost of his former self, with the fire of fever burning in his sunken eyes, almost the only survivor of the numerous expedition.  But he was successful at last!  Untold riches were in his grasp; he wanted more money — only a little more torealise a dream of fabulous fortune.  And Hudig had failed!  Almayer scraped all he could together, but the old man wanted more.  If Almayer could not get it he would go to Singapore — to Europe even, but before all to Singapore; and he would take the little Nina with him.  The child must be brought up decently.  He had good friends in Singapore who would take care of her and have her taught properly.  All would be well, and that girl, upon whom the old seaman seemed to have transferred all his former affection for the mother, would be the richest woman in the East — in the world even.  So old Lingard shouted, pacing the verandah with his heavy quarter-deck step, gesticulating with a smouldering cheroot; ragged, dishevelled, enthusiastic; and Almayer, sitting huddled up on a pile of mats, thought with dread of the separation with the only human being he loved — with greater dread still, perhaps, of the scene with his wife, the savage tigress deprived of her young.  She will poison me, thought the poor wretch, well aware of that easy and final manner of solving the social, political, or family problems in Malay life.
    To his great surprise she took the news very quietly, giving only him and Lingard a furtive glance, and saying not a word.  This, however, did not prevent her the next day from jumping into the river and swimming after the boat in which Lingard was carrying away the nurse with the screaming child.  Almayer had to give chase with his whale-boat and drag her in by the hair in the midst of cries and curses enough to make heaven fall.  Yet after two days spent in wailing, she returned to her former mode of life, chewing betel-nut, and sitting all day amongst her women in stupefied idleness.  She aged very rapidly after that, and only roused herself from her apathy to acknowledge by a scathing remark or an insulting exclamation the accidental presence of her husband.  He had built for her a riverside hut in the compound where she dwelt in perfect seclusion.  Lakamba’s visits had ceased when, by a convenient decree of Providence and the help of a little scientific manipulation, the old ruler of Sambir departed this life.  Lakamba reigned in his stead now, having been well served by his Arab friends with the Dutch authorities.  Syed Abdulla was the great man and trader of the Pantai.  Almayer lay ruined and helpless under the close-meshed net of their intrigues, owing his life only to his supposed knowledge of Lingard’s valuable secret.  Lingard had disappeared.  He wrote once from Singapore saying the child was well, and under the care of a Mrs. Vinck, and that he himself was going to Europe to raise money for the great enterprise.  “He was coming back soon.  There would be no difficulties,” he wrote; “people would rush in with their money.”  Evidently they did not, for there was only one letter more from him saying he was ill, had found no relation living, but little else besides.  Then came a complete silence.  Europe had swallowed up the Rajah Laut apparently, and Almayer looked vainly westward for a ray of light out of the gloom of his shattered hopes.  Years passed, and the rare letters from Mrs. Vinck, later on from the girl herself, were the only thing to be looked to to make life bearable amongst the triumphant savagery of the river.  Almayer lived now alone, having even ceased to visit his debtors who would not pay, sure of Lakamba’s protection.  The faithful Sumatrese Ali cooked his rice and made his coffee, for he dared not trust any one else, and least of all his wife.  He killed time wandering sadly in the overgrown paths round the house, visiting the ruined godowns where a few brass guns covered with verdigris and only a few broken cases of