; on his way to the clear and open sea where
the Lord of the Isles (formerly of Greenock, but condemned, sold, and
registered now as of Penang) waits for its owner, and swings erratically
at anchor in the currents of the capricious tide, under the crumbling
red cliffs of Tanjong Mirrah.

For some time Lakamba, Sahamin, and Bahassoen looked silently into the
humid darkness which had swallowed the big canoe that carried Abdulla
and his unvarying good fortune. Then the two guests broke into a talk
expressive of their joyful anticipations. The venerable Sahamin, as
became his advanced age, found his delight in speculation as to the
activities of a rather remote future. He would buy praus, he would send
expeditions up the river, he would enlarge his trade, and, backed by
Abdulla's capital, he would grow rich in a very few years. Very few.
Meantime it would be a good thing to interview Almayer to-morrow and,
profiting by the last day of the hated man's prosperity, obtain some
goods from him on credit. Sahamin thought it could be done by skilful
wheedling. After all, that son of Satan was a fool, and the thing was
worth doing, because the coming revolution would wipe all debts out.
Sahamin did not mind imparting that idea to his companions, with much
senile chuckling, while they strolled together from the riverside
towards the residence. The bull-necked Lakamba, listening with pouted
lips without the sign of a smile, without a gleam in his dull, bloodshot
eyes, shuffled slowly across the courtyard between his two guests. But
suddenly Bahassoen broke in upon the old man's prattle with the generous
enthusiasm of his youth. . . . Trading was very good. But was the
change that would make them happy effected yet? The white man should be
despoiled with a strong hand! . . . He grew excited, spoke very loud,
and his further discourse, delivered with his hand on the hilt of his
sword, dealt incoherently with the honourable topics of throat-cutting,
fire-raising, and with the far-famed valour of his ancestors.

Babalatchi remained behind, alone with the greatness of his conceptions.
The sagacious statesman of Sambir sent a scornful glance after his noble
protector and his noble protector's friends, and then stood meditating
about that future which to the others seemed so assured. Not so to
Babalatchi, who paid the penalty of his wisdom by a vague sense of
insecurity that kept sleep at arm's length from his tired body. When he
thought a