He nodded sadly, with his eyes on the ground. Almayer looked at him with growing indignation.
“Upon my word, you are heartless,” he burst out; “perfectly heartless—and selfish. It does not seem to strike you—in all that—that in losing your ship—by your recklessness, I am sure—you ruin me—us, and my little Nina. What’s going to become of me and of her? That’s what I want to know. You brought me here, made me your partner, and now, when everything is gone to the devil—through your fault, mind you—you talk about your ship . . . ship! You can get another. But here. This trade. That’s gone now, thanks to Willems. . . . Your dear Willems!”
“Never you mind about Willems. I will look after him,” said Lingard, severely. “And as to the trade . . . I will make your fortune yet, my boy. Never fear. Have you got any cargo for the schooner that brought me here?”
“The shed is full of rattans,” answered Almayer, “and I have about eighty tons of guttah in the well. The last lot I ever will have, no doubt,” he added, bitterly.
“So, after all, there was no robbery. You’ve lost nothing actually. Well, then, you must . . . Hallo! What’s the matter! . . . Here! . . .”
“Robbery! No!” screamed Almayer, throwing up his hands.
He fell back in the chair and his face became purple. A little white foam appeared on his lips and trickled down his chin, while he lay back, showing the whites of his upturned eyes. When he came to himself he saw Lingard standing over him, with an empty water-chatty in his hand.
“You had a fit of some kind,” said the old seaman with much concern. “What is it? You did give me a fright. So very sudden.”
Almayer, his hair all wet and stuck to his head, as if he had been diving, sat up and gasped.
“Outrage! A fiendish outrage. I . . .”