His wife had soon commenced to treat
him with a savage contempt expressed by sulky silence, only occasionally
varied by a flood of savage invective. He felt she hated him, and saw
her jealous eyes watching himself and the child with almost an expression
of hate. She was jealous of the little girl's evident preference for the
father, and Almayer felt he was not safe with that woman in the house.
While she was burning the furniture, and tearing down the pretty curtains
in her unreasoning hate of those signs of civilisation, Almayer, cowed by
these outbursts of savage nature, meditated in silence on the best way of
getting rid of her. He thought of everything; even planned murder in an
undecided and feeble sort of way, but dared do nothing--expecting every
day the return of Lingard with news of some immense good fortune. He
returned indeed, but aged, ill, a ghost of his former self, with the fire
of fever burning in his sunken eyes, almost the only survivor of the
numerous expedition. But he was successful at last! Untold riches were
in his grasp; he wanted more money--only a little more torealise a dream
of fabulous fortune. And Hudig had failed! Almayer scraped all he could
together, but the old man wanted more.
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