That superstitious feeling connected with some vague talismanic properties of the little bit of metal, and the still more hazy but terrible notion of some bad Djinns and horrible torments invented, as she thought, for her especial punishment by the good Mother Superior in case of the loss of the above charm, were Mrs.Almayer's only theological luggage for the stormy road of life.

Mrs.Almayer had at least something tangible to cling to, but Nina, brought up under the Protestant wing of the proper Mrs.Vinck, had not even a little piece of brass to remind her of past teaching.

And listening to the recital of those savage glories, those barbarous fights and savage feasting, to the story of deeds valorous, albeit somewhat bloodthirsty, where men of her mother's race shone far above the Orang Blanda, she felt herself irresistibly fascinated, and saw with vague surprise the narrow mantle of civilised morality, in which good-meaning people had wrapped her young soul, fall away and leave her shivering and helpless as if on the edge of some deep and unknown abyss.

Strangest of all, this abyss did not frighten her when she was under the influence of the witch-like being she called her mother.

She seemed to have forgotten in civilised surroundings her life before the time when Lingard had, so to speak, kidnapped her from Brow.
Since then she had had Christian teaching, social education, and a good glimpse of civilised life.