Almayer approached his daughter and stood for a time looking down on her.

She did not open her eyes, but hearing footsteps near her, murmured in a low sob, "Dain." Almayer hesitated for a minute and then sank on the sand by her side.
She, not hearing a responsive word, not feeling a touch, opened her eyes--saw her father, and sat up suddenly with a movement of terror.
"Oh, father!" she murmured faintly, and in that word there was expressed regret and fear and dawning hope.
"I shall never forgive you, Nina," said Almayer, in a dispassionate voice.

"You have torn my heart from me while I dreamt of your happiness.
You have deceived me.

Your eyes that for me were like truth itself lied to me in every glance--for how long?
You know that best.

When you were caressing my cheek you were counting the minutes to the sunset that was the signal for your meeting with that man--there!" He ceased, and they both sat silent side by side, not looking at each other, but gazing at the vast expanse of the sea.