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“we shall be happy, you and I.  Live rich and respected far from here, and forget this life, and all this struggle, and all this misery!”
    He approached his daughter and passed his hand caressingly over her hair.
    “It is bad to have to trust a Malay,” he said, “but I must own that this Dain is a perfect gentleman — a perfect gentleman,” he repeated.
    “Did you ask him to come here, father?” inquired Nina, not looking at him.
    “Well, of course.  We shall start on the day after to-morrow,” said Almayer, joyously.  “We must not lose any time.  Are you glad, little girl?”
    She was nearly as tall as himself, but he liked to recall the time when she was little and they were all in all to each other.
    “I am glad,” she said, very low.
    “Of course,” said Almayer, vivaciously, “you cannot imagine what is before you.  I myself have not been to Europe, but I have heard my mother talk so often that I seem to know all about it.  We shall live a — a glorious life.  You shall see.”
    Again he stood silent by his daughter’s side looking at that enchanting vision.  After a while he shook his clenched hand towards the sleeping settlement.
    “Ah! my friend Abdulla,” he cried, “we shall see who will have the best of it after all these years!”
    He looked up the river and remarked calmly:
    “Another thunderstorm.  Well!  No thunder will keep me awake to-night, I know!  Good-night, little girl,” he whispered, tenderly kissing her cheek.  “You do not seem to be very happy to-night, but to-morrow you will show a brighter face.  Eh?”
    Nina had listened to her father with her face unmoved, with her half-closed eyes still gazing into the night now made more intense by a heavy thunder-cloud that had crept down from the hills blotting out the stars, merging sky, forest, and river into one mass of almost palpable blackness.  The faint breeze had died out, but the distant rumble of thunder and pale flashes of lightning gave warning of the approaching storm.  With a sigh the girl turned towards the table.
    Almayer was in his hammock now, already half asleep.
    “Take the lamp, Nina,” he muttered, drowsily.  “This place is full of mosquitoes.  Go to sleep, daughter.”
    But Nina put the lamp out and turned back again towards the balustrade of the verandah, standing with her arm round the wooden support and looking eagerly towards the Pantai reach.  And motionless there in the oppressive calm of the tropical night she could see at each flash of lightning the forest lining both banks up the river, bending before the furious blast of the coming tempest, the upper reach of the river whipped into white foam by the wind, and the black clouds torn into fantastic shapes trailing low over the swaying trees.  Round her all was as yet stillness and peace, but she could hear afar off the roar of the wind, the hiss of heavy rain, the wash of the waves on the tormented river.  It came nearer and nearer, with loud thunder-claps and long flashes of vivid lightning, followed by short periods of appalling blackness.  When the storm reached the low point dividing the river, the house shook in the wind, and the rain pattered loudly on the palm-leaf roof, the thunder spoke in one prolonged roll, and the incessant lightning disclosed a turmoil of leaping waters, driving logs, and the big trees bending before a brutal and merciless force.
    Undisturbed by the nightly event of the rainy monsoon, the father slept quietly, oblivious alike of his hopes, his misfortunes, his friends, and his enemies; and the daughter stood motionless, at each flash of lightning eagerly scanning the broad river with a steady and anxious gaze.
     

CHAPTER II.
     
    When, in compliance with Lingard’s abrupt demand, Almayer consented to wed the Malay girl, no one knew that on the day when the interesting young convert had lost all her natural relations and found a white father, she had been fighting desperately like the rest of them on board the prau, and was only prevented from leaping overboard, like the few other survivors, by a severe wound in the leg.  There, on the fore-deck of the prau, old Lingard found her under a heap of dead and dying pirates, and had her carried on the poop of the Flash before the Malay craft was set on fire and sent adrift.  She was conscious, and in the great peace and stillness of the tropical evening succeeding the turmoil of the battle, she watched all she held dear on earth after her