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he commanded himself, would on those occasions disappear quietly during the night from the roadstead while his companions were sleeping off the effects of the midnight carouse, Lingard seeing them drunk under the table before going on board, himself unaffected by any amount of liquor.  Many tried to follow him and find that land of plenty for gutta-percha and rattans, pearl shells and birds’ nests, wax and gum-dammar, but the little Flash could outsail every craft in those seas.  A few of them came to grief on hidden sandbanks and coral reefs, losing their all and barely escaping with life from the cruel grip of this sunny and smiling sea; others got discouraged; and for many years the green and peaceful-looking islands guarding the entrances to the promised land kept their secret with all the merciless serenity of tropical nature.  And so Lingard came and went on his secret or open expeditions, becoming a hero in Almayer’s eyes by the boldness and enormous profits of his ventures, seeming to Almayer a very great man indeed as he saw him marching up the warehouse, grunting a “how are you?” to Vinck, or greeting Hudig, the Master, with a boisterous “Hallo, old pirate!  Alive yet?” as a preliminary to transacting business behind the little green door.  Often of an evening, in the silence of the then deserted warehouse, Almayer putting away his papers before driving home with Mr. Vinck, in whose household he lived, would pause listening to the noise of a hot discussion in the private office, would hear the deep and monotonous growl of the Master, and the roared-out interruptions of Lingard — two mastiffs fighting over a marrowy bone.  But to Almayer’s ears it sounded like a quarrel of Titans — a battle of the gods.
    After a year or so Lingard, having been brought often in contact with Almayer in the course of business, took a sudden and, to the onlookers, a rather inexplicable fancy to the young man.  He sang his praises, late at night, over a convivial glass to his cronies in the Sunda Hotel, and one fine morning electrified Vinck by declaring that he must have “that young fellow for a supercargo.  Kind of captain’s clerk.  Do all my quill-driving for me.”  Hudig consented.  Almayer, with youth’s natural craving for change, was nothing loth, and packing his few belongings, started in the Flash on one of those long cruises when the old seaman was wont to visit almost every island in the archipelago.  Months slipped by, and Lingard’s friendship seemed to increase.  Often pacing the deck with Almayer, when the faint night breeze, heavy with aromatic exhalations of the islands, shoved the brig gently along under the peaceful and sparkling sky, did the old seaman open his heart to his entranced listener.  He spoke of his past life, of escaped dangers, of big profits in his trade, of new combinations that were in the future to bring profits bigger still.  Often he had mentioned his daughter, the girl found in the pirate prau, speaking of her with a strange assumption of fatherly tenderness.  “She must be a big girl now,” he used to say.  “It’s nigh unto four years since I have seen her!  Damme, Almayer, if I don’t think we will run into Sourabaya this trip.”  And after such a declaration he always dived into his cabin muttering to himself, “Something must be done — must be done.”  More than once he would astonish Almayer by walking up to him rapidly, clearing his throat with a powerful “Hem!” as if he was going to say something, and then turning abruptly away to lean over the bulwarks in silence, and watch, motionless, for hours, the gleam and sparkle of the phosphorescent sea along the ship’s side.  It was the night before arriving in Sourabaya when one of those attempts at confidential communication succeeded.  After clearing his throat he spoke.  He spoke to some purpose.  He wanted Almayer to marry his adopted daughter.  “And don’t you kick because you’re white!” he shouted, suddenly, not giving the surprised young man the time to say a word.  “None of that with me!  Nobody will see the colour of your wife’s skin.  The dollars are too thick for that, I tell you!  And mind you, they will be thicker yet before I die.  There will be millions, Kaspar!  Millions I say!  And all for her — and for you, if you do what you are told.”
    Startled by the unexpected proposal, Almayer hesitated, and remained silent for a minute.  He was