Complete Works

sunset that was the signal for your meeting with that man — there!”
    He ceased, and they both sat silent side by side, not looking at each other, but gazing at the vast expanse of the sea.  Almayer’s words had dried Nina’s tears, and her look grew hard as she stared before her into the limitless sheet of blue that shone limpid, unwaving, and steady like heaven itself.  He looked at it also, but his features had lost all expression, and life in his eyes seemed to have gone out.  The face was a blank, without a sign of emotion, feeling, reason, or even knowledge of itself.  All passion, regret, grief, hope, or anger — all were gone, erased by the hand of fate, as if after this last stroke everything was over and there was no need for any record.
    Those few who saw Almayer during the short period of his remaining days were always impressed by the sight of that face that seemed to know nothing of what went on within: like the blank wall of a prison enclosing sin, regrets, and pain, and wasted life, in the cold indifference of mortar and stones.
    “What is there to forgive?” asked Nina, not addressing Almayer directly, but more as if arguing with herself.  “Can I not live my own life as you have lived yours?  The path you would have wished me to follow has been closed to me by no fault of mine.”
    “You never told me,” muttered Almayer.
    “You never asked me,” she answered, “and I thought you were like the others and did not care.  I bore the memory of my humiliation alone, and why should I tell you that it came to me because I am your daughter?  I knew you could not avenge me.”
    “And yet I was thinking of that only,” interrupted Almayer, “and I wanted to give you years of happiness for the short day of your suffering.  I only knew of one way.”
    “Ah! but it was not my way!” she replied.  “Could you give me happiness without life?  Life!” she repeated with sudden energy that sent the word ringing over the sea.  “Life that means power and love,” she added in a low voice.
    “That!” said Almayer, pointing his finger at Dain standing close by and looking at them in curious wonder.
    “Yes, that!” she replied, looking her father full in the face and noticing for the first time with a slight gasp of fear the unnatural rigidity of his features.
    “I would have rather strangled you with my own hands,” said Almayer, in an expressionless voice which was such a contrast to the desperate bitterness of his feelings that it surprised even himself.  He asked himself who spoke, and, after looking slowly round as if expecting to see somebody, turned again his eyes towards the sea.
    “You say that because you do not understand the meaning of my words,” she said sadly.  “Between you and my mother there never was any love.  When I returned to Sambir I found the place which I thought would be a peaceful refuge for my heart, filled with weariness and hatred — and mutual contempt.  I have listened to your voice and to her voice.  Then I saw that you could not understand me; for was I not part of that woman?  Of her who was the regret and shame of your life?  I had to choose — I hesitated.  Why were you so blind?  Did you not see me struggling before your eyes?  But, when he came, all doubt disappeared, and I saw only the light of the blue and cloudless heaven — ”
    “I will tell you the rest,” interrupted Almayer:  “when that man came I also saw the blue and the sunshine of the sky.  A thunderbolt has fallen from that sky, and suddenly all is still and dark around me for ever.  I will never forgive you, Nina; and to-morrow I shall forget you!  I shall never forgive you,” he repeated with mechanical obstinacy while she sat, her head bowed down as if afraid to look at her father.
    To him it seemed of the utmost importance that he should assure her of his intention of never forgiving.  He was convinced that his faith in her had been the foundation of his hopes, the motive of his courage, of his determination to live and struggle, and to be victorious for her sake.  And now his faith was gone, destroyed by her own hands; destroyed cruelly, treacherously, in the dark; in the very moment of success.  In the utter wreck of his affections and of all his feelings, in the chaotic disorder of his thoughts, above the confused sensation of physical pain that wrapped him up in a sting as of a whiplash curling round him from his shoulders down to his feet,