n in a mournful round of tearful
and endless iteration.

CHAPTER VII.

The bright sunshine of the clear mistless morning, after the stormy
night, flooded the main path of the settlement leading from the low shore
of the Pantai branch of the river to the gate of Abdulla's compound. The
path was deserted this morning; it stretched its dark yellow surface,
hard beaten by the tramp of many bare feet, between the clusters of palm
trees, whose tall trunks barred it with strong black lines at irregular
intervals, while the newly risen sun threw the shadows of their leafy
heads far away over the roofs of the buildings lining the river, even
over the river itself as it flowed swiftly and silently past the deserted
houses. For the houses were deserted too. On the narrow strip of
trodden grass intervening between their open doors and the road, the
morning fires smouldered untended, sending thin fluted columns of smoke
into the cool air, and spreading the thinnest veil of mysterious blue
haze over the sunlit solitude of the settlement. Almayer, just out of
his hammock, gazed sleepily at the unwonted appearance of Sambir,
wondering vaguely at the absence of life. His own house was very quiet;
he could not hear his wife's voice, nor the sound of Nina's footsteps in
the big room, opening on the verandah, which he called his sitting-room,
whenever, in the company of white men, he wished to assert his claims to
the commonplace decencies of civilisation. Nobody ever sat there; there
was nothing there to sit upon, for Mrs. Almayer in her savage moods, when
excited by the reminiscences of the piratical period of her life, had
torn off the curtains to make sarongs for the slave-girls, and had burnt
the showy furniture piecemeal to cook the family rice. But Almayer was
not thinking of his furniture now. He was thinking of Dain's return, of
Dain's nocturnal interview with Lakamba, of its possible influence on his
long-matured plans, now nearing the period of their execution. He was
also uneasy at the non-appearance of Dain who had promised him an early
visit. "The fellow had plenty of time to cross the river," he mused,
"and there was so much to be done to-day. The settling of details for
the early start on the morrow; the launching of the boats; the thousand
and one finishing touches. For the expedition must start complete,
nothing should be forgotten, nothing should--"

The sense of the unwonted solitude grew upon him