the glorious turmoil of his dreams. It was very
strange to see her there--near him. He felt almost affectionate towards
her. After all, she came just in time. Then he thought: That other one.
I must get away without a scene. Who knows; she may be dangerous! . . .
And all at once he felt he hated Aissa with an immense hatred that
seemed to choke him. He said to his wife--

"Wait a moment."

She, obedient, seemed to gulp down some words which wanted to come out.
He muttered: "Stay here," and disappeared round the tree.

The water in the iron pan on the cooking fire boiled furiously, belching
out volumes of white steam that mixed with the thin black thread of
smoke. The old woman appeared to him through this as if in a fog,
squatting on her heels, impassive and weird.

Willems came up near and asked, "Where is she?"

The woman did not even lift her head, but answered at once, readily, as
though she had expected the question for a long time.

"While you were asleep under the tree, before the strange canoe came,
she went out of the house. I saw her look at you and pass on with a
great light in her eyes. A great light. And she went towards the place
where our master Lakamba had his fruit trees. When we were many here.
Many, many. Men with arms by their side. Many . . . men. And talk . . .
and songs . . ."

She went on like that, raving gently to herself for a long time after
Willems had left her.

Willems went back to his wife. He came up close to her and found he had
nothing to say. Now all his faculties were concentrated upon his wish to
avoid Aissa. She might stay all the morning in that grove. Why did those
rascally boatmen go? He had a physical repugnance to set eyes on her.
And somewhere, at the very bottom of his heart, there was a fear of her.
Why? What could she do? Nothing on earth could stop him now. He felt
strong, reckless, pitiless, and superior to everything. He wanted to
preserve before his wife the lofty purity of his character. He thought:
She does not know. Almayer held his tongue about Aissa. But if she finds
out, I am lost. If it hadn't been for the boy I would . . . free of both
of them. . . . The idea darted through his head. Not he! Married. . . .
Swore solemnly. No . . . sacred tie. . . . Looking on his wife, he felt
for the first time in his life something approaching remorse. Remorse,
arising from his conception of the awful nature of an oath before the
altar. . . . She mustn't find out. .