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chair, thinking she would require rest before the long pull in the early morning.  The lamp was burning dimly, and her father, tired with the day’s labour, was already in his hammock.  Nina put the lamp out and passed into a large room she shared with her mother on the left of the central passage.  Entering, she saw that Mrs. Almayer had deserted the pile of mats serving her as bed in one corner of the room, and was now bending over the opened lid of her large wooden chest.  Half a shell of cocoanut filled with oil, where a cotton rag floated for a wick, stood on the floor, surrounding her with a ruddy halo of light shining through the black and odorous smoke.  Mrs. Almayer’s back was bent, and her head and shoulders hidden in the deep box.  Her hands rummaged in the interior, where a soft clink as of silver money could be heard.  She did not notice at first her daughter’s approach, and Nina, standing silently by her, looked down on many little canvas bags ranged in the bottom of the chest, wherefrom her mother extracted handfuls of shining guilders and Mexican dollars, letting them stream slowly back again through her claw-like fingers.  The music of tinkling silver seemed to delight her, and her eyes sparkled with the reflected gleam of freshly-minted coins.  She was muttering to herself: “And this, and this, and yet this!  Soon he will give more — as much more as I ask.  He is a great Rajah — a Son of Heaven!  And she will be a Ranee — he gave all this for her!  Who ever gave anything for me?  I am a slave!  Am I?  I am the mother of a great Ranee!”  She became aware suddenly of her daughter’s presence, and ceased her droning, shutting the lid down violently; then, without rising from her crouching position, she looked up at the girl standing by with a vague smile on her dreamy face.
    “You have seen.  Have you?” she shouted, shrilly.  “That is all mine, and for you.  It is not enough!  He will have to give more before he takes you away to the southern island where his father is king.  You hear me?  You are worth more, granddaughter of Rajahs!  More!  More!”
    The sleepy voice of Almayer was heard on the verandah recommending silence.  Mrs. Almayer extinguished the light and crept into her corner of the room.  Nina laid down on her back on a pile of soft mats, her hands entwined under her head, gazing through the shutterless hole, serving as a window at the stars twinkling on the black sky; she was awaiting the time of start for her appointed meeting-place.  With quiet happiness she thought of that meeting in the great forest, far from all human eyes and sounds.  Her soul, lapsing again into the savage mood, which the genius of civilisation working by the hand of Mrs. Vinck could never destroy, experienced a feeling of pride and of some slight trouble at the high value her worldly-wise mother had put upon her person; but she remembered the expressive glances and words of Dain, and, tranquillised, she closed her eyes in a shiver of pleasant anticipation.
    There are some situations where the barbarian and the, so-called, civilised man meet upon the same ground.  It may be supposed that Dain Maroola was not exceptionally delighted with his prospective mother-in-law, nor that he actually approved of that worthy woman’s appetite for shining dollars.  Yet on that foggy morning when Babalatchi, laying aside the cares of state, went to visit his fish-baskets in the Bulangi creek, Maroola had no misgivings, experienced no feelings but those of impatience and longing, when paddling to the east side of the island forming the back-water in question.  He hid his canoe in the bushes and strode rapidly across the islet, pushing with impatience through the twigs of heavy undergrowth intercrossed over his path.  From motives of prudence he would not take his canoe to the meeting-place, as Nina had done.  He had left it in the main stream till his return from the other side of the island.  The heavy warm fog was closing rapidly round him, but he managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of a light away to the left, proceeding from Bulangi’s house.  Then he could see nothing in the thickening vapour, and kept to the path only by a sort of instinct, which also led him to the very point on the opposite shore he wished to reach.  A great log had stranded there, at right angles to the bank, forming a kind of jetty against which the swiftly flowing stream broke with a loud