glowing red half-way across the river where the drifting logs were
hurrying towards the sea through the impenetrable gloom. He had a hazy
recollection of having been called some time during the evening by his
wife. To his dinner probably. But a man busy contemplating the wreckage
of his past in the dawn of new hopes cannot be hungry whenever his rice
is ready. Time he went home, though; it was getting late.

He stepped cautiously on the loose planks towards the ladder. A lizard,
disturbed by the noise, emitted a plaintive note and scurried through the
long grass growing on the bank. Almayer descended the ladder carefully,
now thoroughly recalled to the realities of life by the care necessary to
prevent a fall on the uneven ground where the stones, decaying planks,
and half-sawn beams were piled up in inextricable confusion. As he
turned towards the house where he lived--"my old house" he called it--his
ear detected the splash of paddles away in the darkness of the river. He
stood still in the path, attentive and surprised at anybody being on the
river at this late hour during such a heavy freshet. Now he could hear
the paddles distinctly, and even a rapidly exchanged word in low tones,
the heavy breathing of men fighting with the current, and hugging the
bank on which he stood. Quite close, too, but it was too dark to
distinguish anything under the overhanging bushes.

"Arabs, no doubt," muttered Almayer to himself, peering into the solid
blackness. "What are they up to now? Some of Abdulla's business; curse
him!"

The boat was very close now.

"Oh, ya! Man!" hailed Almayer.