“I am come,” began Willems again; “I am come for your good and mine.”
“You look as if you had come for a good feed,” chimed in the irrepressible Almayer, while Willems waved his hand in a discouraged gesture. “Don’t they give you enough to eat,” went on Almayer, in a tone of easy banter, “those—what am I to call them—those new relations of yours? That old blind scoundrel must be delighted with your company. You know, he was the greatest thief and murderer of those seas. Say! do you exchange confidences? Tell me, Willems, did you kill somebody in Macassar or did you only steal something?”
“It is not true!” exclaimed Willems, hotly. “I only borrowed. . . . They all lied! I . . .”
“Sh-sh!” hissed Almayer, warningly, with a look at the sleeping child. “So you did steal,” he went on, with repressed exultation. “I thought there was something of the kind. And now, here, you steal again.”
For the first time Willems raised his eyes to Almayer’s face.
“Oh, I don’t mean from me. I haven’t missed anything,” said Almayer, with mocking haste. “But that girl. Hey! You stole her. You did not pay the old fellow. She is no good to him now, is she?”
“Stop that. Almayer!”
Something in Willems’ tone caused Almayer to pause. He looked narrowly at the man before him, and could not help being shocked at his appearance.
“Almayer,” went on Willems, “listen to me. If you are a human being you will. I suffer horribly—and for your sake.”
Almayer lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed! How? But you are raving,” he added, negligently.