river, at the dance of sunlight
on the flowing water. Gradually the forest of the further bank became
smaller, as if sinking below the level of the river. The outlines
wavered, grew thin, dissolved in the air. Before his eyes there was
now only a space of undulating blue--one big, empty sky growing dark at
times. . . . Where was the sunshine? . . . He felt soothed and happy, as
if some gentle and invisible hand had removed from his soul the burden
of his body. In another second he seemed to float out into a cool
brightness where there was no such thing as memory or pain. Delicious.
His eyes closed--opened--closed again.

"Almayer!"

With a sudden jerk of his whole body he sat up, grasping the front rail
with both his hands, and blinked stupidly.

"What? What's that?" he muttered, looking round vaguely.

"Here! Down here, Almayer."

Half rising in his chair, Almayer looked over the rail at the foot of
the verandah, and fell back with a low whistle of astonishment.

"A ghost, by heavens!" he exclaimed softly to himself.

"Will you listen to me?" went on the husky voice from the courtyard.
"May I come up, Almayer?"

Almayer stood up and leaned over the rail. "Don't you dare," he said,
in a voice subdued but distinct. "Don't you dare! The child sleeps here.
And I don't want to hear you--or speak to you either."

"You must listen to me! It's something important."

"Not to me, surely."

"Yes! To you. Very important."

"You were always a humbug," said Almayer, after a short silence, in an
indulgent tone. "Always! I remember the old days. Some fellows used to
say there was no one like you for smartness--but you never took me in.
Not quite. I never quite believed in you, Mr. Willems."

"I admit your superior intelligence," retorted Willems, with scornful
impatience, from below. "Listening to me would be a further proof of it.
You will be sorry if you don't."

"Oh, you funny fellow!" said Almayer, banteringly. "Well, come up. Don't
make a noise, but come up. You'll catch a sunstroke down there and die
on my doorstep perhaps. I don't want any tragedy here. Come on!"

Before he finished speaking Willems' head appeared above the level of
the floor, then his shoulders rose gradually and he stood at last before
Almayer--a masquerading spectre of the once so very confidential clerk
of the richest merchant in the islands. His jacket was soiled and torn;
below the waist he was clothed in a worn-out and faded sarong. He