"Dapat!" exclaimed Ali, joyously. "Got him, master! Got prau! Not
there! Look more Tanah Mirrah side. Aha! That way! Master, see? Now
plain. See?"
Almayer followed Ali's forefinger with his eyes for a long time in vain.
At last he sighted a triangular patch of yellow light on the red
background of the cliffs of Tanjong Mirrah. It was the sail of the prau
that had caught the sunlight and stood out, distinct with its gay tint,
on the dark red of the cape. The yellow triangle crept slowly from cliff
to cliff, till it cleared the last point of land and shone brilliantly
for a fleeting minute on the blue of the open sea. Then the prau bore up
to the southward: the light went out of the sail, and all at once the
vessel itself disappeared, vanishing in the shadow of the steep headland
that looked on, patient and lonely, watching over the empty sea.
Almayer never moved. Round the little islet the air was full of the talk
of the rippling water. The crested wavelets ran up the beach
audaciously, joyously, with the lightness of young life, and died
quickly, unresistingly, and graciously, in the wide curves of transparent
foam on the yellow sand. Above, the white clouds sailed rapidly
southwards as if intent upon overtaking something.
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