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think and no opportunity to protest, even if she had wished it.  But she did not wish it now.  At the bottom of that passing desire to look again at her father’s face there was no strong affection.  She felt no scruples and no remorse at leaving suddenly that man whose sentiment towards herself she could not understand, she could not even see.  There was only an instinctive clinging to old life, to old habits, to old faces; that fear of finality which lurks in every human breast and prevents so many heroisms and so many crimes.  For years she had stood between her mother and her father, the one so strong in her weakness, the other so weak where he could have been strong.  Between those two beings so dissimilar, so antagonistic, she stood with mute heart wondering and angry at the fact of her own existence.  It seemed so unreasonable, so humiliating to be flung there in that settlement and to see the days rush by into the past, without a hope, a desire, or an aim that would justify the life she had to endure in ever-growing weariness.  She had little belief and no sympathy for her father’s dreams; but the savage ravings of her mother chanced to strike a responsive chord, deep down somewhere in her despairing heart; and she dreamed dreams of her own with the persistent absorption of a captive thinking of liberty within the walls of his prison cell.  With the coming of Dain she found the road to freedom by obeying the voice of the new-born impulses, and with surprised joy she thought she could read in his eyes the answer to all the questionings of her heart.  She understood now the reason and the aim of life; and in the triumphant unveiling of that mystery she threw away disdainfully her past with its sad thoughts, its bitter feelings, and its faint affections, now withered and dead in contact with her fierce passion.
    Mrs. Almayer unmoored Nina’s own canoe and, straightening herself painfully, stood, painter in hand, looking at her daughter.
    “Quick,” she said; “get away before the moon rises, while the river is dark.  I am afraid of Abdulla’s slaves.  The wretches prowl in the night often, and might see and follow you.  There are two paddles in the canoe.”
    Nina approached her mother and hesitatingly touched lightly with her lips the wrinkled forehead.  Mrs. Almayer snorted contemptuously in protest against that tenderness which she, nevertheless, feared could be contagious.
    “Shall I ever see you again, mother?” murmured Nina.
    “No,” said Mrs. Almayer, after a short silence.  “Why should you return here where it is my fate to die?  You will live far away in splendour and might.  When I hear of white men driven from the islands, then I shall know that you are alive, and that you remember my words.”
    “I shall always remember,” returned Nina, earnestly; “but where is my power, and what can I do?”
    “Do not let him look too long in your eyes, nor lay his head on your knees without reminding him that men should fight before they rest.  And if he lingers, give him his kriss yourself and bid him go, as the wife of a mighty prince should do when the enemies are near.  Let him slay the white men that come to us to trade, with prayers on their lips and loaded guns in their hands.  Ah!” — she ended with a sigh — ”they are on every sea, and on every shore; and they are very many!”
    She swung the bow of the canoe towards the river, but did not let go the gunwale, keeping her hand on it in irresolute thoughtfulness.
    Nina put the point of the paddle against the bank, ready to shove off into the stream.
    “What is it, mother?” she asked, in a low voice.  “Do you hear anything?”
    “No,” said Mrs. Almayer, absently.  “Listen, Nina,” she continued, abruptly, after a slight pause, “in after years there will be other women — ”
    A stifled cry in the boat interrupted her, and the paddle rattled in the canoe as it slipped from Nina’s hands, which she put out in a protesting gesture.  Mrs. Almayer fell on her knees on the bank and leaned over the gunwale so as to bring her own face close to her daughter’s.
    “There will be other women,” she repeated firmly; “I tell you that, because you are half white, and may forget that he is a great chief, and that such things must be.  Hide your anger, and do not let him see on your face the pain that will eat your heart.  Meet him with joy in your eyes and wisdom on your lips, for to you he will turn in