Chapter 2 - Page 2

great but occult influence which is one of the few rights of half-savage
womankind. But her destiny in the rough hands of the old sea-dog, acting
under unreasoning impulses of the heart, took a strange and to her a
terrible shape. She bore it all--the restraint and the teaching and the
new faith--with calm submission, concealing her hate and contempt for all
that new life. She learned the language very easily, yet understood but
little of the new faith the good sisters taught her, assimilating quickly
only the superstitious elements of the religion. She called Lingard
father, gently and caressingly, at each of his short and noisy visits,
under the clear impression that he was a great and dangerous power it was
good to propitiate. Was he not now her master? And during those long
four years she nourished a hope of finding favour in his eyes and
ultimately becoming his wife, counsellor, and guide.

Those dreams of the future were dispelled by the Rajah Laut's "fiat,"
which made Almayer's fortune, as that young man fondly hoped. And
dressed in the hateful finery of Europe, the centre of an interested
circle of Batavian society, the young convert stood before the altar with
an unknown and sulky-looking white man. For Almayer was uneasy, a little
disgusted, and greatly inclined to run away. A judicious fear of the
adopted father-in-law and a just regard for his own material welfare
prevented him from making a scandal; yet, while swearing fidelity, he was
concocting plans for getting rid of the pretty Malay girl in a more or
less distant future. She, however, had retained enough of conventual
teaching to understand well that according to white men's laws she was
going to be Almayer's companion and not his slave, and promised to
herself to act accordingly.

So when the _Flash_ freighted with materials for building a new house
left the harbour of Batavia, taking away the young couple into the
unknown Borneo, she did not carry on her deck so much love and happiness
as old Lingard was wont to boast of before his casual friends in the
verandahs of various hotels. The old seaman himself was perfectly happy.
Now he had done his duty by the girl. "You know I made her an orphan,"
he often concluded solemnly, when talking about his own affairs to a
scratch audience of shore loafers--as it was his habit to do. And the
approbative shouts of his half-intoxicated auditors filled his simple
soul with delight and pride. "I carry everything right through," was
another of his sayings, and in pursuance of that principle he pushed the
building of house and godowns on the Pantai River with feverish haste.
The house for the young couple; the godowns for the big trade Almayer was
going to develop while