Complete Works

pivot set fast when he tried to turn it.  No matter.  He desisted, and his eyes wandered slowly from object to object.  All those things had cost a lot of money at the time.  The desk, the paper, the torn books, and the broken shelves, all under a thick coat of dust.  The very dust and bones of a dead and gone business.  He looked at all these things, all that was left after so many years of work, of strife, of weariness, of discouragement, conquered so many times.  And all for what?  He stood thinking mournfully of his past life till he heard distinctly the clear voice of a child speaking amongst all this wreck, ruin, and waste.  He started with a great fear in his heart, and feverishly began to rake in the papers scattered on the floor, broke the chair into bits, splintered the drawers by banging them against the desk, and made a big heap of all that rubbish in one corner of the room.
    He came out quickly, slammed the door after him, turned the key, and, taking it out, ran to the front rail of the verandah, and, with a great swing of his arm, sent the key whizzing into the river.  This done he went back slowly to the table, called the monkey down, unhooked its chain, and induced it to remain quiet in the breast of his jacket.  Then he sat again on the table and looked fixedly at the door of the room he had just left.  He listened also intently.  He heard a dry sound of rustling; sharp cracks as of dry wood snapping; a whirr like of a bird’s wings when it rises suddenly, and then he saw a thin stream of smoke come through the keyhole.  The monkey struggled under his coat.  Ali appeared with his eyes starting out of his head.
    “Master!  House burn!” he shouted.
    Almayer stood up holding by the table.  He could hear the yells of alarm and surprise in the settlement.  Ali wrung his hands, lamenting aloud.
    “Stop this noise, fool!” said Almayer, quietly.  “Pick up my hammock and blankets and take them to the other house.  Quick, now!”
    The smoke burst through the crevices of the door, and Ali, with the hammock in his arms, cleared in one bound the steps of the verandah.
    “It has caught well,” muttered Almayer to himself.  “Be quiet, Jack,” he added, as the monkey made a frantic effort to escape from its confinement.
    The door split from top to bottom, and a rush of flame and smoke drove Almayer away from the table to the front rail of the verandah.  He held on there till a great roar overhead assured him that the roof was ablaze.  Then he ran down the steps of the verandah, coughing, half choked with the smoke that pursued him in bluish wreaths curling about his head.
    On the other side of the ditch, separating Almayer’s courtyard from the settlement, a crowd of the inhabitants of Sambir looked at the burning house of the white man.  In the calm air the flames rushed up on high, coloured pale brick-red, with violet gleams in the strong sunshine.  The thin column of smoke ascended straight and unwavering till it lost itself in the clear blue of the sky, and, in the great empty space between the two houses the interested spectators could see the tall figure of the Tuan Putih, with bowed head and dragging feet, walking slowly away from the fire towards the shelter of “Almayer’s Folly.”
    In that manner did Almayer move into his new house.  He took possession of the new ruin, and in the undying folly of his heart set himself to wait in anxiety and pain for that forgetfulness which was so slow to come.  He had done all he could.  Every vestige of Nina’s existence had been destroyed; and now with every sunrise he asked himself whether the longed-for oblivion would come before sunset, whether it would come before he died?  He wanted to live only long enough to be able to forget, and the tenacity of his memory filled him with dread and horror of death; for should it come before he could accomplish the purpose of his life he would have to remember for ever!  He also longed for loneliness.  He wanted to be alone.  But he was not.  In the dim light of the rooms with their closed shutters, in the bright sunshine of the verandah, wherever he went, whichever way he turned, he saw the small figure of a little maiden with pretty olive face, with long black hair, her little pink robe slipping off her shoulders, her big eyes looking up at him in the tender trustfulness of a petted child.  Ali did not see anything, but he also was aware of the presence of a child in the