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.