did not care whether he went or stayed. And with a gesture of abandoned
discouragement Almayer would climb up slowly to the verandah of his new
house to get out of the rain, and leaning on the front rail with his head
sunk between his shoulders he would abandon himself to the current of
bitter thoughts, oblivious of the flight of time and the pangs of hunger,
deaf to the shrill cries of his wife calling him to the evening meal.
When, roused from his sad meditations by the first roll of the evening
thunderstorm, he stumbled slowly towards the glimmering light of his old
house, his half-dead hope made his ears preternaturally acute to any
sound on the river. Several nights in succession he had heard the splash
of paddles and had seen the indistinct form of a boat, but when hailing
the shadowy apparition, his heart bounding with sudden hope of hearing
Dain's voice, he was disappointed each time by the sulky answer conveying
to him the intelligence that the Arabs were on the river, bound on a
visit to the home-staying Lakamba. This caused him many sleepless
nights, spent in speculating upon the kind of villainy those estimable
personages were hatching now. At last, when all hope seemed dead, he was
overjoyed on hearing Dain's voice; but Dain also appeared very anxious to
see Lakamba, and Almayer felt uneasy owing to a deep and ineradicable
distrust as to that ruler's disposition towards himself. Still, Dain had
returned at last. Evidently he meant to keep to his bargain. Hope
revived, and that night Almayer slept soundly, while Nina watched the
angry river under the lash of the thunderstorm sweeping onward towards
the sea.




CHAPTER VI.