"What is it?" asked Almayer, uneasily. "There is nothing wrong with the
brig, I hope?"
"The brig is where no Orang Blanda can lay his hands on her," said Dain,
with a gloomy tone in his voice, which Almayer, in his elation, failed to
notice.
"Right," he said. "But where are all your men? There are only two with
you."
"Listen, Tuan Almayer," said Dain. "To-morrow's sun shall see me in your
house, and then we will talk. Now I must go to the Rajah."
"To the Rajah! Why? What do you want with Lakamba?"
"Tuan, to-morrow we talk like friends. I must see Lakamba to-night."
"Dain, you are not going to abandon me now, when all is ready?" asked
Almayer, in a pleading voice.
"Have I not returned? But I must see Lakamba first for your good and
mine."
The shadowy head disappeared abruptly. The bush, released from the grasp
of the bowman, sprung back with a swish, scattering a shower of muddy
water over Almayer, as he bent forward, trying to see.
In a little while the canoe shot into the streak of light that streamed
on the river from the big fire on the opposite shore, disclosing the
outline of two men bending to their work, and a third figure in the stern
flourishing the steering paddle, his head covered with an enormous round
hat, like a fantastically exaggerated mushroom.
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