XXIII. THE COURT ADJOURNED…

XXIII. THE COURT ADJOURNED

On a certain day, not very long after the events narrated in the former chapters, a carriage drew up before the pandoppo of the Regent's house situated on the green of Santjoemeh, where the members of the judicial bench of that district used to hold their court.

Out of the carriage there stepped a gentleman who looked with some surprise at the concourse of people which had gathered around the house; but who, nevertheless, with calm and dignified air, walked up the steps which led to the interior.

That gentleman was Mr. Zuidhoorn, the president of the district-court, who, on the day appointed, had come to open the session.

The crowd assembled in front of the Regent's pandoppo consisted chiefly of Javanese, a circumstance which could not but attract the notice of the judicial functionary, inasmuch as the native population, which was formerly so fond of frequenting the courts held under the Wariengien trees of the village green by its native chiefs, now shows the greatest disinclination to enter the Dutch courts of justice.

As a rule, the Javanese is never seen there except he be fettered or under the escort of a couple of policemen--that is to say, either as a prisoner, as a criminal, or as a witness. Among the crowd some Chinamen also were conspicuous, and all were evidently awaiting with anxiety an event of no common interest.

"What is the meaning of this concourse, Mr. Thomasz?" asked Mr. Zuidhoorn of the deputy-recorder, whom he met as he entered the pandoppo.

The latter, who was a half-caste, looked up at his chief with a puzzled expression of countenance.

"You stare at me very strangely," continued Mr. Zuidhoorn. "What can have brought all this crowd of people together?"

"They are curious, I suppose, to know," replied the recorder, not without hesitation, "how it will end."

"How will what end?"

"Well, sir, what will be the result of the session."

"The session?" repeated Mr. Zuidhoorn, surprised in his turn, "is there anything very remarkable about it?"

The recorder evidently felt very ill at ease.

"Sir," he stammered, "you seem not to know what has taken place."

"No, I don't," replied Mr. Zuidhoorn, "what is the matter?"

Mr. Thomasz was getting more and more nervous. His face, which was very sallow, began to assume a greenish yellow complexion. Mr. Zuidhoorn seeing the man's confusion cried out:

"Speak up for goodness sake, man, speak up!"

"The native members--of the council, sir--have received a letter from the Resident--" he managed to stammer.

"A letter--!" exclaimed Mr. Zuidhoorn--"from the Resident! What in the world about?"

"It was a letter, sir, forbidding them to attend this session."

"Forbidding them to attend!" exclaimed Mr. Zuidhoorn, now fairly astonished. "Why, Mr. Thomasz, have you taken leave of your senses?"

"No, sir, indeed I have not," replied the recorder with a painful smile. "You question me and I am obliged to answer--and further--"

"Well, what else? Out with it!"

"The Chinese assessors and the head-djaksa have received similar communications--so that--"

"So that what?" cried the president impatiently.

"So that there will be no court held to-day since you will be the only member present."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the president. "I tell you what, Mr. Thomasz, my carriage is still at the door, you jump into it and drive off at once to all the native members, and also to the Chinese assessors, and to the djaksa, and tell them that I order them to come here without delay. To-day is the assize-day, and I am determined that the cases shall be heard."

"I will do as you bid," replied the recorder. "You are my superior officer."

"Very good--make haste."

As soon as the man had left, Mr. Zuidhoorn began pacing up and down the pandoppo in great excitement.

"It is a monstrous thing!" cried he to himself, "I could not--I dared not--suppose that they would carry matters so far! Yet I ought to have foreseen something of the kind! Yes--I am a great fool--why! when a few weeks ago I received a request from the Resident to alter the order of the cases, a request with which I refused to comply, then I suspected that there was some scheme on foot; but that they would have adopted so arbitrary a course as this! A few days ago even, when I received a written statement from the Resident informing me that I was no longer competent to preside over the court, because I had obtained leave of absence, even then I could not suppose that they would have recourse to so high-handed an infraction of the law. Yesterday the Resident informed me by word of mouth that he intended to avail himself of the right of presiding in person; but I made no reply, for I looked upon his words as a merely formal notice, and never dreamt that anyone could be foolish enough to tamper so offensively with the regulations of the court. Yes! for a most stupid thing it is thus to enforce an old and obsolete rule, which was made when, as yet, there was no idea of any individual being specially appointed as President of the Sessions. But--what can be the drift of all this? What can it all mean?" he asked himself as he paced up and down.

His eye lit upon the charge-sheet which the recorder had left lying on the green-baize cover of the table. He took it up and began to read out the cases inscribed upon it, making his remarks upon them as he went on.

"M`Bok Bardjo: accused of secretly conveying away coffee! Poor people who are compelled to plant coffee, and are not allowed to drink it; but are obliged to put up with a wretched decoction of coffee-leaves!

"Bariedin: charged with wearing in public a civilian's cap--Ridiculous! Those fellows in the Home Department do make fools of themselves--such a trifle is high treason in their eyes.

"Sarina: charged with deserting her infant child--that's bad--not so bad however as flinging the poor little thing into the river or the canal as they generally do at home in such cases.

"Pak Ardjan: accused--of--opium--smuggling--and wounding--a policeman! Now I think I am coming to it--now a light dawns in upon me; and the next case?

"Ardjan: accused--of--opium--smuggling! Ardjan, the future husband of the baboe Dalima!"

These two last cases Mr. Zuidhoorn had read so slowly and so deliberately that he seemed almost to spell every syllable; then, for a while, he stood lost in thought, while he put his finger to his forehead.

"How could I have forgotten that? And van Nerekool, who so recently talked the whole of this business over with me!--And--the day after to-morrow I must be off to Holland!

"Well, no matter, those cases must be disposed of to-day, and they shall be disposed of at any price! I shall see about that!"

Yes, the judge would see; but not in the sense in which he meant it; he would see that the court was not to sit at all that day.

When he had got thus far in his soliloquy, the door opened, and the Regent of Santjoemeh appeared, and with him came one of the most considerable of the native chiefs of the Residence, Radhen Ngahebi Wirio Kesoemo. They were both members of the court, and it was their turn to be in attendance. They were accompanied by the panghoeloe or priest, carrying the inevitable Koran in his hand. Both the former dignitaries confirmed the statement of the deputy-recorder, and told Mr. Zuidhoorn that the Resident had expressly forbidden them to attend the court on that day. "But," they continued, "since the Kandjeng toean judge has summoned us, we feel it our duty to obey his commands."

"But," asked the president, "what reason does the Resident give for this prohibition?"

The Regent merely shrugged his shoulders and, very prudently, made no reply. Radhen Ngahebi however said:

"Yesterday I called upon the Resident, and then the Kandjeng toean informed me that, after having got leave of absence, you were no longer qualified to take the chair at the sessions; and that it was for that reason he had sent the letter."

Mr. Zuidhoorn smiled contemptuously; but, in the presence of natives, he refrained from uttering a single word which might have even a semblance of questioning the authority of the highest official who was the representative of the Dutch power in Santjoemeh. Indeed he scarcely had time to speak, for very soon after the Javanese chiefs and the Chinese assessors also entered the pandoppo. They very cautiously and with infinite circumlocution informed the toean lakkel, thus they pronounced the word "rakker" which signifies judge, that they were not to blame for arriving so late.

At length the chief djaksa appeared. He made a ceremonious bow to the chairman and to the other members of the court and said, that he had that very morning been summoned into the presence of the Resident, and that he had, from his lips, received a peremptory order not to attend the court.

"However," he continued, "in my capacity of native judge I am under your immediate authority, and I have come to inquire how you wish me to act in this matter."

As he spoke he made another deep bow to his superior officer.

"Djaksa," replied Mr. Zuidhoorn, "I have no commands whatever to give you. You occupy so high a position that I must leave you to judge for yourself what course you had better pursue. As far as I am concerned, I have most positively made up my mind to carry on the business of the court to-day; and, seeing that our number is now complete, I intend to open the proceedings at once. Gentlemen, please to take your seats."

Scarcely, however, had they done so, and just as Mr. Zuidhoorn was in the act of bringing down his presidential hammer and declaring the sessions opened, the back door of the pandoppo was thrown open and the private secretary of the Resident appeared on the threshold. He was in official costume and accompanied by a posse of policemen, one of whom held aloft behind him the Resident's unopened umbrella, in token that the secretary appeared as representative of his chief. Without deigning to offer any greeting, the secretary began:

"You, Radhen Mas Toemenggoeng Pringgoe Kesoemo, and you, Radhen Ngahebi Wirio Kesoemo, and you, Panghoeloe Mas Ali Ibrahim, and you, Ong Ang Thay, and Kwee Lie Liang--you have, as members, as priest, and as assessors of this court of justice, received a written order from the Kandjeng toean Resident distinctly forbidding you to attend here on this day. The Kandjeng toean Resident now sends me to inquire what can have induced you to commit so grave an offence as knowingly and deliberately to disobey the command of him who is the direct representative of the Kandjeng toean Governor General, who again in Batavia stands in the place of the Kandjeng toean Radja dari Tana Nederland dan Hindia? Speak, I am prepared to hear what explanation you have to offer for conduct so insubordinate? Be well assured that whatever may be your excuse, the Kandjeng toean Resident will give it his calm and impartial consideration."

The deepest silence succeeded this startling address. With the exception of the chairman, the men assembled there seemed annihilated by the secretary's words, they hardly dared to draw a breath, they scarcely ventured to look at one another. They wished the ground would open and swallow them up. How could they have had the audacity of daring to disregard the express command of the Mighty Lord? Their disobedience was indeed flagrant! Would the Kandjeng toean ever forgive them for it? Such were the thoughts which passed through the brains of the fearless and independent judges who were considered fit and proper persons impartially to administer justice to their countrymen.

Mr. Zuidhoorn--who thoroughly knew the Javanese character and who had learned to fathom the abject and cringing servility of the native chiefs towards their Dutch masters--Mr. Zuidhoorn, who so often had compared them with the dog that licks the hand of the man that strikes him--looked with compassion on the poor creatures that showed such abject cowardice even when sitting in the very court to which they had been summoned to discharge duties, which, above all other duties, demand perfect fearlessness and independence. This servility, indeed, could hardly be laid to their charge; it was the natural result of the long system of extortion and bullying to which their race had been subjected.

Once again the secretary very impatiently asked: "Radhen Mas Toemenggoeng and Radhen Ngahebi, I am still awaiting the answer I am to carry to the Kandjeng toean Resident!"

After having looked round and waited a while to see whether any of the chiefs thus addressed would attempt to say anything in justification, Mr. Zuidhoorn, in a most dignified and impressive manner said:

"An answer, Mr. Secretary, which I will take upon myself to give you. I, in my capacity of President of this court of Santjoemeh, to whom the members, the priest and the assessors, in all matters relating to this court, are directly subordinate, I, this morning, sent to them my peremptory orders to attend here. The said members and assessors, therefore, are in no wise to blame--they have merely, in this matter, obeyed the commands which I, their superior officer, have issued to them. The entire responsibility rests upon me. Be kind enough, Mr. Secretary, to communicate this my reply to the Resident; and do not, by your presence, any further delay the business of this court."

"Mr. Zuidhoorn, after leave of absence has been granted you, you have no right whatever to occupy the chair. I enter my protest against the course of action you have seen fit to adopt; and I call upon you now to resign your place to the Resident who intends this day to preside in person."

"Mr. Secretary," replied Mr. Zuidhoorn with the utmost calmness, "it is not my intention to enter into any argument with you about my rights. You will inform the Resident that I shall not resign my seat; and that I intend, to the last moment, to carry out conscientiously the duties of my office. Again I request you to withdraw, in order that the court may proceed with the business it has before it."

"Mr. Zuidhoorn!" cried the secretary, in a threatening tone of voice, "mind what you are about!"

"The entire responsibility rests upon my shoulders, Mr. Secretary. Usher, clear the court, and see that it be not further disturbed!"

Mr. van Gulpendam flew into a foaming rage when he received the message. In a towering passion he strode up and down the front-gallery of the Residence, the secretary striving like a dog to keep up with him, which his corpulence however would hardly allow him to do.

"What insolence!" shouted the great man, "what insolence! He shall pay for it! But--what to do now? Meanwhile the trials are going on, and we shall have an acquittal no doubt. Those law chaps are capable of anything! I know what I shall do--a company of soldiers! I shall have them driven out of the place at the point of the bayonet like so many sea-mews!"

He rushed into his office--forgetting, in his anger, that such Napoleonic measures are not exactly suited to the taste of the Dutch people--to send a note to the officer in command of the troops requesting him to come to him at once. As soon as he had written his precious epistle he bellowed out "Oppas! Oppas!!" in tones so stentorian that all the policemen and the whole staff of servants on the premises came flying to the spot, thinking that some dreadful accident had happened. Even the sentries, who were on duty, heroically brought their muskets to the charge against some imaginary foe; and, in this martial attitude, resolutely stood awaiting the things which might happen. Fair Laurentia was at the time very busy in the pandoppo discussing with her kokkie the mysteries of a fricasseed chicken. She also started up and came flying into the office while, with trembling hand, she sought to adjust her kabaja.

"What is the matter? What is the matter?" she cried.

But, before the Resident had time to reply, and before he had despatched his note to the officer in command of the garrison, the deputy-recorder walked up the steps of the gallery.

The moment he saw him, van Gulpendam knew that he was the bearer of some tidings, and, not able to restrain his impatience, he ran to meet him, impetuously crying out, "What is the matter, Mr. Thomasz?"

"Resident, I have come to inform you that the court has risen and stands adjourned for a week."

"What? adjourned? After what my secretary told me? Have the members refused to sit? Splendid fellows those natives!"

"No, no, Resident, by your leave--the chiefs did not refuse at all."

"Didn't they? Then how did it come about?"

"I will tell you, Resident. When Mr. Zuidhoorn was about to open the proceedings and when he spoke the words: 'Usher, clear the court and see that it be not further disturbed,' he found that the usher had disappeared altogether."

"The usher disappeared?"

"Yes, Resident, he had got out of the way."

Van Gulpendam's face beamed with satisfaction.

"But," said he, "that would hardly put a stop to the proceedings?"

The secretary here interposed and said:

"As I was leaving the court I ordered the usher to write, from my dictation, a paper summoning Mr. Zuidhoorn and all the members of the court to clear out of the premises."

"Sharp practice that!" remarked van Gulpendam.

"Do you not approve of my conduct, Resident?"

"Of course, most certainly I do; but what took place next?"

"The poor devil of an usher was so utterly dumfoundered that he could not hold a pen, and it was no use therefore to dictate anything to him. I then gave him the message to deliver verbally."

"Yes--and then?" asked van Gulpendam.

"Then I came away to tell you."

"But I suppose," continued van Gulpendam--"you, Mr. Thomasz, will be able to tell us what happened?"

"When the usher again entered the court," resumed the deputy-recorder, "he stammered forth a few incoherent and utterly unintelligible words, to which Mr. Zuidhoorn did not pay the slightest heed. He brought his hammer down, declared the session open, and turned to the chief djaksa to request him to read out the first charge."

"What case was it, Mr. Thomasz?" asked van Gulpendam with some curiosity.

"Oh, it was some case of coffee-stealing, sir, some old woman--"

"Oh yes, all right, go on!"

"Yes," continued the deputy-recorder, "Mr. Zuidhoorn might well look--and he did open his eyes uncommonly wide, for the chief djaksa, who, a moment or two before, was sitting by his side close to him,--he too had vanished."

"Vanished?" Mr. van Gulpendam burst out laughing. "I can picture to myself Mr. Zuidhoorn's face!" he cried. "Mr. Thomasz, you are a capital story-teller. Do go on--run off the log-line."

The deputy-recorder continued:

"They looked high and low for the djaksa; but he could not be found. So one of the vice-djaksas had to be summoned. It was a curious thing however, that, although a few minutes before two or three were present in the pandoppo, they now had the greatest trouble to lay hands on a single one."

"Oh!" interrupted van Gulpendam, "they managed to get one in tow at last?"

"Yes, Resident."

"What a pity!" The exclamation escaped from the Resident's lips in spite of himself.

"There was no harm done, however," continued Mr. Thomasz.

"How so? Go on with your tale."

"Well, sir, when Mr. Zuidhoorn told the vice-djaksa that he called upon him to fill the place of the absent official, the poor fellow most suddenly was seized with a violent fit of colic!"

"A fit of colic!" laughed van Gulpendam. "What fun, what fun!"

"Yes, and so severe was the poor fellow's attack that he made the most extraordinary grimaces--in fact it literally doubled him up."

"Oh how rich--how very rich!" cried van Gulpendam still laughing immoderately.

"And, at length--with both hands to his stomach--was compelled to rush out of the room."

"With both hands!" shouted van Gulpendam, "come anchor, anchor! Thomasz, you will be the death of me."

The deputy-recorder looked around with much gravity--never before in all his official career had he had such success as a low comedian, and, thinking he might venture further, he resumed:

"Aye--but--Resident, that was not the funniest part of it."

"Not? well give way--full speed ahead!"

"No, Resident, the funniest part of the whole business was Mr. Zuidhoorn's face. That's what you ought to have seen. He sat there, with his mouth wide open, scowling over his spectacles which hung down low on his nose, after the retreating figure of the colic-stricken djaksa; and, in his loose gown, he looked for all the world like an old gingham umbrella in a cover much too big for it."

"That will do! that will do! Mr. Thomasz," grinned van Gulpendam, "you have told your story splendidly!"

The deputy-recorder made a low bow in acknowledgment of the compliment.

"And what happened next?"

"Why then, Resident, nothing could happen--there was no djaksa, no usher of the court--so the session could not go on. The members present were smiling and were beginning to look at their watches; evidently they had had quite enough of sitting there to no purpose. So Mr. Zuidhoorn had no option--he brought down his hammer and adjourned the court for a week. Thereupon I hurried off at once to bring you the news."

"And capitally you have done it, Mr. Thomasz! I am much obliged to you--at the proper time I will repay your zeal."

As soon as the deputy-recorder had left, van Gulpendam turned to his secretary who, with folded arms, had stood listening to the conversation.

"Our object, you see, has been attained--now to take advantage of the fair tide. You must take care that all the documents are ready in good time--next week I purpose to take the chair myself at the assizes."

"Everything shall be in readiness, sir," replied the secretary; "but will you allow me to make one remark?"

"By all means, secretary--fire away!"

"The whole of this business seems to me to be a very serious game."

"How so?" exclaimed van Gulpendam, "do you think I am afraid of burning my hands in cold water?"

"What I mean, Resident, is this. It is a very lucky chance indeed that Mr. Zuidhoorn happened to disregard your injunction and that he was thus compelled to adjourn the court for another week."

"Well!" cried van Gulpendam impatiently, "cut it short."

"If he had not done so," continued the secretary, "you would this day have presided--would you not?"

"Certainly, and then we should have settled matters by this time."

The secretary scratched his ear.

"Resident," said he thoughtfully, "are you sure of Mr. Meidema?"

"Sure of Meidema? what has he to do with it?"

"The opium-haul they made at Moeara Tjatjing," continued the secretary, "is a pretty valuable one. I fancy that Meidema is rather looking forward to reaping some benefit from the confiscation which must follow the sentence of the court."

"Has he told you so? Has he given you any hint to that effect?"

"Not exactly, Resident. But you must remember Mr. Meidema has a large family to provide for; and it is whispered in Santjoemeh that he finds some difficulty in making both ends meet. Indeed it would not surprise me to hear that he is in debt. So, you see, a little windfall of that kind would come in very handy."

"But," said van Gulpendam "he has no right to any such thing--the law forbids it."

"You are quite right, Resident, nothing ever escapes your eagle eye; but yet--'il y a des accommodements avec le ciel,' and therefore--"

"But how?" asked van Gulpendam testily.

"Look you, Resident, that I can't tell you--I don't know; but I fancy some loophole could be found. In this particular case, for instance, baboe Dalima is the real discoverer. Now supposing she, in order to save her Ardjan, should hand over her share or part of it--and remember she can have not the slightest idea of its value--to a third party?"

For a moment or two the Resident reflected, then with a smile he turned to his secretary and said:

"Well--even if that were so--that does not explain to me why I should distrust Mr. Meidema. As far as I can see, any hope of sharing in the profits of the confiscated tjandoe would make him as pliable as spun yarn."

"It is very possible, Resident, your judgment is seldom at fault; but you must not lose sight of the 23rd clause of the opium-law. For myself, I would not mind swearing that Mr. Meidema is shaping his course with his eye on that particular clause. In the case which he, as head of the local police, has drawn up, you will notice that though he states the opium to have been found not far from the prisoner Ardjan, yet he takes care to add that the Javanese came ashore in a small surf-boat which could not possibly have conveyed so large a quantity, and which, moreover, was dashed to pieces by the waves; whereas the packages discovered show no trace whatever of having been in contact with water."

"Is that mentioned in his report?"

"Yes, Resident, it is, and there is something else. He draws attention to the fact that the schooner brig Kiem Pin Hin was seen cruising about off the coast on the night in question, and that the cutter of the Matamata gave chase to a boat of the smuggling vessel."

"Did you read that report?" asked van Gulpendam who now began to be really alarmed. "Very possibly you are on the right tack," the Resident muttered rather than said. "Now, Mr. Secretary, be kind enough to hand me Mr. Meidema's report as soon as ever it reaches our office, and further send an oppasser to request that gentleman, in my name, to step over here at once."

This, of course, was a dismissal in optimâ formâ.

When van Gulpendam found himself alone he looked up the act of 1874 and said:

"The secretary mentioned clause 23 I think. Let us see. Oho! a fine of one thousand to ten thousand guilders! And, when I come to consider how, on the evening of the occurrence, Mr. Meidema laid stress upon the exact value of the capture of tjandoe--Yes, then I am driven to confess that our secretary may perhaps be in the right channel after all."

He sprang up from his seat, and with rapid steps began to walk up and down the gallery.

"Oh!" cried he gnashing his teeth with vexation--"all this bother brought on by that wretched fellow van Nerekool! Oh--if Anna would but consent!"

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XXIV. PARENTS v. DAUGHTER; DUTY v. AUTHORITY

Yes, if Anna would but consent! But, that was the very thing she would not do.

After both her parents, who were so strangely unlike their high-minded child, had employed every means in their power to induce Anna to join their conspiracy by using the influence she had over van Nerekool, the girl had replied: "No, never!" just as firmly and just as resolutely as Charles himself had uttered those words in reply to Mrs. van Gulpendam in the garden of the Residence.

"No, never, never!" said the true-hearted girl as emphatically as it was possible to pronounce the words.

"But remember," cried Laurentia, "his whole career depends upon the attitude you choose to assume in this matter!"

"Charles shall never condescend to seek promotion by stooping to a mean, dishonourable action," was the girl's reply.

"Anna!" shouted the Resident, in a furious rage, "take care what you say! I advise you to keep some check upon your tongue!"

"For goodness sake, Gulpie," interposed Laurentia soothingly, "now do be quiet--anger will not mend matters." And then turning again to her daughter, she continued: "And Anna, I wish you not to lose sight of the fact that the possibility of your union with van Nerekool depends wholly on your present line of conduct."

"My union!" sadly exclaimed the poor girl.

"A woman who is really in love," continued her mother, "has a very considerable amount of power to influence the man upon whom she has set her affections."

"But, mother, do you then really wish me to try and persuade Charles to lend himself to an infamous breach of duty?"

"Anna, don't go too far!" roared van Gulpendam, beside himself with anger.

"Would you," continued Anna, "would you have me deliberately widen the gap which is already growing between us? No, no, I shall not do that. All joy has been swept out of my life for ever; and I have now but one wish left, and that is that my image, pure and unsullied, may continue to live in his memory. I can never become his wife, that I know well; but my name at least shall remain with him as fair and as spotless as the remembrance of a blissful dream!"

"But, Anna," persisted her mother, speaking in her most honeyed and winning tones, "but, Anna, my dear girl, why should you talk thus? Why should there be no joy for you in this life? Surely that is tormenting yourself quite needlessly."

"Oh, mother!" cried the poor girl, "do spare me the pain and the sorrow of having to utter words which will be most distressing to you and most painful to my father to hear. No, no! Of happiness for me there can be no further question--of a union with van Nerekool, I must never again allow myself to think!"

"Ah," sighed Laurentia, "if you would but--"

"Yes, mother, just so, if I could but--But I will not. Suppose, for a moment, that Charles were weak enough to yield to my persuasion. Suppose I could succeed in talking him over, and could get him to consent to your proposals. Why then, from that very moment, every tender feeling would be wiped clean out of my breast. If such a thing ever could be--why then, I would utterly despise a man who is ready to offer up his duty to his inclination; and who could be base enough to stoop to a crime, in order to win the girl upon whom he has set his heart."

"Anna, not another word!" cried van Gulpendam, in the most threatening accents.

"But, father," she continued, "surely I ought to tell you what my feelings are. I must give utterance to thoughts which seem to choke me! As certainly as I know that I wish him to keep a pure and stainless memory of me--so surely am I convinced that he also, on his part, desires nothing more fervently than that his name should dwell with me, as it does now, great, noble, and strictly upright! Oh, I could not, indeed, bear to face the life of utter desolation, which would be in store for me were I compelled to despise him whom now, above all human beings, I look up to as noble and great. No, no, if such a thing could ever come to pass--then my misery would be too great a burden to bear! Come what will, the memory of Charles shall always remain unsullied in my heart."

Mrs. van Gulpendam could but heave a deep sigh, while her husband was trembling with suppressed rage.

At length he exclaimed, in the tones of a man who has fully made up his mind, "Let us cut this short, it has lasted too long. I take it then, Anna, that you absolutely and finally refuse to accede to your mother's suggestion?"

"Yes, father--I do refuse most positively," said Anna, in a tone not one whit less resolute than her father's.

"Mind, you are utterly spoiling all his prospects in life," said van Gulpendam, warningly.

"Better that," was her reply, "much better, than that I should rob him of his honour."

"It makes your marriage with him impossible."

"I know it but too well," sighed Anna, "but I cannot help that--the fault of that lies with my parents."

"How can you make that out?" exclaimed Laurentia.

"He cannot, and he never shall, marry the daughter of parents who could venture to make him such infamous proposals!"

"Anna!" roared her father, "you are utterly forgetting yourself--it is time we should have no more of this. A girl who dares to make use of such language to her parents shows herself unworthy of them. I fully intended to put an end to this nonsensical love-story altogether. It has, indeed, already compromised you. I intended to send you away, for a while, on a visit to Karang Anjer; and I meant you to start on your journey next week. Now, however, I change my mind; and you must be off at once--to-morrow morning."

"To-morrow morning!" exclaimed Laurentia. "What will the Steenvlaks say to this sudden change of plan?"

"Assistant Resident Steenvlak," replied her husband, "has been suddenly called away to Batavia. He has been obliged to leave Mrs. Steenvlak and her daughters at Karang Anjer, and, as he may be away from home for a considerable time, the family will no doubt be glad enough to have someone to stay with them during his absence. However that may be, Anna will, I am sure, be welcome. I am going to my office this moment and will at once send off a telegram to Karang Anjer. To-morrow morning Anna will start for Poerworedjo, a friend of mine will be there to meet her, and he will take her on in his carriage to the Steenvlaks. She will travel by way of Koetoe Ardjo and Keboemen."

Laurentia heaved a deep sigh. "We shall have but very little time to get her things ready," said she. The remark itself and still more the way she made it, showed plainly enough that the bother of this sudden departure touched her much more nearly than the separation from her child.

"Oh! mother," said Anna as quietly as possible, "pray leave all that entirely to me. I shall be quite ready to start to-morrow, as early as ever you please."

"Do you intend her to stay long with the Steenvlaks?" asked Laurentia.

"That will very much depend upon herself," was van Gulpendam's reply. "I don't want to see her face again, unless she consents to return in a much more submissive mood, and is prepared to behave in a dutiful and becoming manner to her parents."

As he uttered these words, van Gulpendam glanced at his daughter hoping--perhaps expecting--that he might detect in her some signs of relenting. But, though she was deadly pale, Anna did not betray the feelings which were stirring within her. On her placid features there was no trace either of irresolution or of defiance; there was nothing but quiet determination and settled purpose.

"You have, I presume," continued the Resident, "well weighed and thoroughly understood what I said?" He rose and prepared to go to his office.

"Certainly, father, I have understood you perfectly. To-morrow morning I leave this house never to set foot in it again. Even if you had not so decided, I myself would have insisted upon an immediate separation."

"Oh, ho! Does the wind sit in that quarter? And pray, may I be allowed to ask my proud and independent daughter what plans she may have formed for the future? She surely must be aware that she cannot quarter herself for an indefinite period of time upon the Steenvlaks?"

Van Gulpendam, as he put the question, assumed a tone and manner in the highest degree offensive and taunting.

But Anna would not allow herself to be ruffled and, in the calmest possible way she replied:

"You ask me, father, what are my plans for the future, and I must beg you to allow me to keep my intentions to myself. For the present moment I gladly accept the hospitality of the Steenvlaks. You know how fond I am of the two girls and how much I respect and admire their mother. But, as to the future, my plans are, at present, I must confess, very vague. I do not very well know what to say about them; and, even if I were ever so anxious to give you my confidence, I could hardly tell you what I intend to do. Of one thing, however, you may rest assured--whatever may happen, I shall never again be a source of trouble or expense to you."

"Indeed!" replied van Gulpendam, still in his sneering tone. "Indeed! And so my daughter seems to fancy that she can step out into the wide world without a penny in her pocket! I am very curious to learn what impressions she may have formed of that world."

"You must pardon me, father," replied the young girl still very quietly; "but now you compel me to touch upon a subject which I feel is a very delicate one. You have given me an education which has but very poorly fitted me to provide for my own maintenance. Yes--I might, perhaps, earn something by giving music lessons; but here in Java I could not well do so without casting a reflection upon your name. To go to Holland and there have to roam about the streets in search of employment--the very thought is repugnant to my feelings. But all these are matters for future consideration."

"Oh, you think so?" sneered van Gulpendam, "for future consideration! Now, it appears to me, that in such schemes, the earning of money ought to be the first and most important consideration."

"Such being your opinion," replied Anna with a sigh, but no less resolutely and calmly than before, "I must now come to business. I did not think I should ever have had to speak to you on this subject at all--indeed the matter would never have crossed my lips, had not necessity compelled me to speak out freely. Two years ago, you remember, we received the news that Grandmamma van Gulpendam had died at Gouda. The same mail which brought us the sad tidings of her death, brought me a letter forwarded by her lawyer. In that letter the dear old lady took a most affectionate leave of me and told me how much she regretted that she had never had the opportunity of seeing me or becoming acquainted with me. She informed me further that, in her will, she had left me the sum of 30,000 guilders, and that, as soon as I was nineteen, the money would be at my disposal. She begged me, however, not to mention the matter to you as she did not wish to deprive you of the pleasure of giving me that surprise on my nineteenth birthday. Her lawyer merely added a few words confirming my grandmother's communication; and he went on to tell me that he had invested the capital in the 4 1/2 per cents, and that, by the express desire of the deceased, the money was not to be realised. Well, the interest of this sum, which is mine and which you will hardly refuse to give me, is amply sufficient for my present wants. Next year I shall be nineteen and I shall then have the power to dispose of the capital. By that time I shall have made up my mind as to the manner in which I can most usefully employ it."

All this, the young girl spoke so naturally and so quietly that both her parents, who latterly had gained some insight into the character of their daughter, understood perfectly well that they had to deal with a resolution which nothing could shake. They were, indeed, greatly surprised to find that Anna was so well informed as to the dispositions which her grandmother had made in her favour; but they felt that denial or resistance to her claim were alike impossible. Indeed her better nature began to prevail over the mother, and tears stood in her eyes as she said:

"Anna! poor child! what a terrible future you are laying up for yourself!"

"Mother," was the girl's reply, "a future more terrible than that which must await me here, I cannot possibly conceive. What worse misfortunes can overtake me? I defy Fortune to be more cruel to me in the time to come than she has already shown herself in the past."

At these words van Gulpendam rose from the seat he had resumed. He put his hand to his throat as if to clear away something which was rising there and threatened to choke him. But, his was a tyrannical nature, and he at once repressed the natural emotion which, he feared, might overcome him. The very consciousness, indeed, of the fact that his child was so much purer, so much better and stronger than he was himself, was unbearable to him.

"Yes! yes!" he exclaimed, "that is all mighty fine--very fine and very romantic! Unfortunately it lacks common sense. We have now said all we have to say to each other and the upshot of it is that I stick to my resolution; and that to-morrow morning early, you leave for Karang Anjer."

"I am not aware, father," said the girl with much dignity, "I am not aware that I have made any attempt to alter your decision."

"Very good, that settles the matter!" cried van Gulpendam, and then, with concentrated fury in his voice, he continued: "We shall find some way of breaking that little temper."

These were his parting words as he turned to go.

On the morrow of this most painful interview, just as day was about to dawn, a carriage stood waiting at the steps of the residential mansion. It was one of those light conveyances drawn by four horses which Europeans often use in the interior of Java where railways are unknown, and which are well suited to traverse long distances along broken roads and steep mountain paths. Under the back seat of this vehicle was strapped a small travelling bag, only just big enough to contain a few necessary articles of clothing. Anna had made up her mind that she would not take away with her out of her father's house any single thing but what was strictly necessary. Even that she would have left behind, but for the consideration that the interest of the money left her by her aunt which, for the last two years, had not been paid to her, amply sufficed to cover the value of the few things she packed up. Not a single jewel, not one silk dress, not the least bit of lace, did that little bag contain. She carefully left all those superfluities behind her, and would carry away nothing but a little underclothing and a couple of plain muslin dresses.

The small travelling trunk had scarcely been strapped into its place before Anna herself appeared in the front gallery. She was clad with the utmost simplicity in a black dress, and dark-coloured bonnet. There was on her person nothing whatever to catch the eye but the plain linen collar and the cuffs round her wrists, and these narrow strips of white seemed only to increase the demureness and earnestness of her appearance. As she thus prepared to leave her parents' home, she was alone, not a soul was by to comfort her. The rosy dawn was casting its friendly light over the garden, upon the shrubs, the flowers, the leaves, and even over the furniture of the verandah; and the young girl cast a yearning, sorrowful glance upon all these familiar objects which awakened so many memories in her breast. For an instant it seemed as if she hesitated; but it was only for an instant, for hastily brushing away the tears which were silently stealing down her cheeks, she sprang upon a splendid Devoniensis which was growing against the balustrade, and hastily plucked one just opening bud which she put into her bosom as she muttered with a sob: "My darling flower, you shall go with me into exile!" and the next moment she had jumped into the carriage which immediately started.

Not another sigh, not another look. The final separation was thus accomplished. The vehicle rumbled heavily through the massive and highly ornamented gates, and then with all speed made for the hill-country of the interior of Java. Anna meanwhile throwing herself back in the carriage gave way to sad reflections.

But all the while, hidden by the Venetian blinds, Anna's mother had been standing and watching her daughter with feverish anxiety. She had caught the desolate expression in Anna's eyes as she glanced around upon all those familiar objects which from childhood had been so dear to her; she had seen the girl plucking that rosebud, and her eyes had eagerly followed her as she sprang into the carriage. Then a hoarse cry escaped from her lips, "My God, my God," she sobbed, "has it come to this? Where there was everything to ensure happiness! How will all this end?"

Aye indeed; how was it all to end? That was a question to which the future was to give a terrible answer.

Late on that afternoon, Anna arrived at a small dessa in the interior, and left her carriage while a change of horses was being made. She asked the postmaster if he would allow her to sit down and rest awhile in his bamboo verandah, and he very readily granted her request. Then she drew forth her writing materials and was soon wholly absorbed in the work of writing a letter. For a few moments she sat irresolute, her pale and careworn face plainly enough showing that she had a most difficult and serious task before her. First she heaved a deep sigh; then two big, burning tears slowly trickled down and fell heavily on the paper before her. But at length, by degrees she appeared to be carried away by her subject, and she wrote on in feverish haste. Yes, the subject of that letter was indeed to the young girl a serious and difficult one; for she was composing her last letter to her lover van Nerekool. In the condition of utter loneliness in which she then was, she laid bare her whole soul to him, and, although words thus written were intended to meet the eye only of him to whom they were addressed; yet the novelist is guilty of no indiscretion if he should glance over the young girl's shoulder to gain an insight into her feelings and thus give the motive for her actions. The letter was not a very long one; yet it cost poor Anna a great deal of anxious thought.

"Mr. van Nerekool," she wrote, "from the evening when we met on the occasion of the ball at the Residence, I have, in spite of all your endeavours to obtain another interview, purposely avoided seeing you again. On that occasion you asked me to become your wife, and I allowed you to speak to my parents on the subject. Under those circumstances you were no doubt perfectly justified in seeking for further intercourse with me, and it is for this reason that I now address these last words to you. After I left you in the garden, you had a long interview with my mother, and it was not until the following morning that I learned what had been the subject of conversation between you. Pardon me, Mr. van Nerekool, for I know that a child ought not to criticise the actions of her parents; but it is that conversation and the fact that my father endorses everything my mother then said, that makes my union with you impossible. Yours is an upright and loyal nature, and you cannot and must not think of making me your wife after the infamous proposals which have been made to you. You will say perhaps that a child is not guilty of the actions of her parents and cannot be held responsible for them. In that you are perfectly right, and I must tell you that my conscience is as clear, and that, if in my present forlorn condition I may be allowed so to speak, I, at this present moment, hold up my head as high as before I knew anything of my mother's designs. But to be always face to face with the man to whom the odious propositions were made; to be ever conscious, even in our tenderest moments, of the fact that I was flung to the man I love as the price of dishonour, that is a prospect which to me is utterly unendurable. You are a gentleman, and, as such, you would, no doubt, always have treated my parents with deference and with the proper show of respect; but to know that all this must be a mere empty show put on in deference to a daughter's natural affections, O Charles!--allow me for the last time to call you by that dear name--O Charles! that would have made life an intolerable burden to me, and must inevitably, in the end, have destroyed your happiness also.

"I am writing these words to you from Sapoeran where I am resting for a few minutes while we are changing horses. You have, no doubt, heard that I am going on to Karang Anjer to stay with the Steenvlaks. My father, I know, has proclaimed that fact loudly enough and it must have come to your ears. Yes! I am now on my way to that lonely retreat; but that is only the first stage on the long and difficult road which lies before me. Do you ask what I intend to do? Well, my dear friend, I myself do not yet know what my future course will be. It is most probable that I shall try and get away to Europe, or perhaps to Australia. This much, however, is quite certain; that after my visit to the Steenvlaks I shall disappear altogether; for the very name of van Gulpendam has become hateful to me. But, Charles, when I shall have vanished, when even my very name shall no longer be mentioned, and I shall be as one over whom the grave has closed; then, I know, you will be generous enough to give a thought now and then to the poor girl who, innocent of even a thought of evil, would have esteemed herself only too happy to have been able to call herself yours; but for whom such happiness was not reserved. One request I have to make. Do not lose sight of Dalima. I know her sad condition. I know all about it. I know more about her misfortunes, at least as far as its authors are concerned, than you can do. But, for my sake, I know you will not leave that unhappy girl to her fate. I have no doubt that on the pretended accusation of opium smuggling, she will be found guilty, and condemned. I know it but too well! With our false notions of right and wrong, whenever opium enters into any question, no other result is, I fear, possible. But, oh! I beg of you, do not abandon her. Do not allow her, when once she regains her freedom, to sink into that pool of infamy into which all her countrymen inevitably fall, when, guilty, or not guilty, they have once come under the ban of our criminal law. And now, dearest Charles, farewell! In this world we shall meet no more. I will not, I cannot, ask you to forget me, a passing thought you will sometimes bestow upon her who now will bear no other name than

"Anna."

This letter the poor girl put into the hands of the postmaster, and it was sent off in due course though not so soon as she wished; for in those inland parts the mail goes out but twice a week.

Although the distance between Sapoeran and Poerworedjo was not very great, yet the sun had fairly set before the carriage reached the latter place. Anna put up at the hotel, and, after having partaken of some refreshment, she lay down thoroughly wearied out by the journey, and fortunately she was soon fast asleep.

After this short digression which the thread of our story required, we return to the Residence at Santjoemeh.

When the secretary left the room, Resident van Gulpendam had bitterly exclaimed: "Oh, if Anna would but consent!"

For a while he seemed lost in thought and sat turning over in his mind how matters would have stood if Anna could have persuaded van Nerekool to give way, and if he, on the conditions proposed to him, had been appointed President of the court.

"Well!" he muttered at length, "it can't be helped. However, we shall manage I suppose to weather this Norwester and to get our boat safe into harbour."

"But," he continued, "what did the secretary mean by alluding to that clause in the opium-law? Let me see, which was it? Oh yes, I have it, clause 23. Just let us have another look at it!"

Herewith he took up the bundle of papers which he had replaced among other documents on the ledge over his writing-table. For some time he fingered the pages, turning them over impatiently, at length he exclaimed: "Oh, here we are! No. 228. Now let us see, clause 23--'All offences committed against the regulations herein laid down to which no special penalties are attached, are punishable by a fine of one thousand to ten thousand guilders for every hundred katies of opium or under, and of one hundred guilders for every additional katie?' By Jove! the fellow is right after all!--that's where the coast lies, is it? We shall have to get out another anchor. It is not at all a bad idea, but--"

"The inspector requests the honour of an interview with you Kandjeng toean!" cried one of the oppassers, as he flung open the door to announce Mr. Meidema.

"Show him in," was the reply.

"Resident," began the inspector as he entered, "I just now met your secretary, and he told me that you wished to see me."

"Quite right, Mr. Meidema, pray be seated. I have just seen your report on that smuggling business at Moeara Tjatjing; but I am surprised to find that your statement does not at all agree with the actual facts of the case."

"How is that, Resident?"

"No, Mr. Meidema, no it does not. Will you please try to recall our conversation on the very evening of the discovery?" continued the Resident with his eye steadily fixed upon his subordinate.

"I remember that conversation perfectly, Resident."

"Well," resumed van Gulpendam, "if my memory serves me, I then pointed out to you--and I did so by means of witnesses--that the opium was found in the possession of the Javanese called Ardjan. At the time you seemed to agree with me."

"Certainly, Resident, I did not just then venture to contradict the opinion you had formed, and which you so positively stated as your conviction. It was, however, my duty to investigate the matter--"

"And?"--interrupted van Gulpendam.

"And the result of that investigation has led me to the conclusions I have embodied in the report of the case which, as head of the police, it was my duty to draw up."

"Yes," hastily said the Resident, "against all probability, and in the teeth of the evidence!"

"By your leave, Resident," said Meidema, "the report--"

"Shall I tell you," broke in van Gulpendam, "shall I tell you to what your investigation has led you?"

But Mr. Meidema, carried away by his argument, paid no heed to the question, and continued:

"The report, for the matter of that, is not binding upon the court."

"That's a good job too," said van Gulpendam, somewhat sarcastically; "but I asked you just now to what your inquiry has led you."

"To what it has led me, Resident?" replied Meidema. "I think that is a very strange question, coming from you. I have, as I was in duty bound, held an inquiry simply for the sake of arriving at the truth."

"Of course, Mr. Meidema, that is supposed to be the object of every inquiry; but I think that this particular investigation may have led you to a somewhat different result."

"What may that be, Resident?" asked the other, calmly.

"It has led you to the discovery that the fines, which are to be divided among the finders of the smuggled opium, can more easily be recovered from the wealthy farmer than from the poor Javanese fellow out of which no one can screw anything at all."

"Resident!" cried Meidema, "such language--"

"Mr. Meidema, pray be calm. My words merely express the impression which your report has made upon my mind."

"But, Resident, I have nothing whatever to do with the fines. They are no business of mine. I am perfectly acquainted with the law on the subject, and I really do not know what meaning I must attach to your insinuations."

"Oh, come," said van Gulpendam scornfully, "do you think I am not up to all the dodges by which the law may be evaded?"

"Resident," said Meidema, indignantly, "I must really request you to modify your opinion of me. I never have stooped to any of the dodges you think fit to allude to. Not a single penny of the fines, not a single grain of the opium has ever come into my hands. And, allow me to say, that if you do not feel thoroughly convinced that when I say so I speak the bare truth--why then the office you hold compels you to lodge an accusation against me at head quarters."

"Mr. Meidema," said van Gulpendam, coolly, "we are, I fear, wandering away from our subject. You tell me that you have been holding an inquiry--do you not? Now pray let me know, whose evidence may you have heard?"

"Whose evidence? Why, in the first place that of the prisoner Ardjan--"

"Of course, he has told you that he has nothing to do with the matter, that I can quite understand. Whom else did you examine?"

"I next took the evidence of baboe Dalima--"

"Oh, yes, she also is locked up on a charge of opium smuggling; she has no doubt given her lover a most excellent character. Fine witnesses those of yours, Mr. Meidema, I must say. Have you any others?"

"Yes," replied the Inspector, quietly, "I have examined the dessa people who were that night pressed to assist in Ardjan's arrest."

"And?" cried van Gulpendam, impatiently. "Come, look sharp!"

"And their story contradicts, on almost every point, that of the police oppassers."

"Of course it does, those dessa dogs always hang together; but all that ought not to have satisfied you as Chief Inspector of Police."

"No, Resident, it ought not, I confess; and what is more, it has not," continued Meidema. "When the evidence appeared to me so very contradictory, I myself went down in person to Moeara Tjatjing, to inspect the boat in which Ardjan is said to have brought the opium ashore."

"And you found nothing?" inquired van Gulpendam.

"Oh, yes, Resident, I did. I found the surf-boat, and I am fully satisfied that it was much too small to contain the captured opium."

"If I remember rightly, Mr. Meidema," observed van Gulpendam, "that boat is said to have held two persons, Ardjan and Dalima?"

"Quite so, Resident."

"The boat then was large enough to hold those two, eh?"

"Yes, Resident, it might have done so; but there was room for nothing more."

"But," asked van Gulpendam, "supposing now that baboe Dalima never was in that boat at all--what would you say to that, Mr. Meidema?"

"Never in the boat at all, Resident!" exclaimed the other, in astonishment.

"In that case," continued the Resident, "I suppose there might have been room for the opium if carefully stowed away?"

"Well, yes, perhaps," said Meidema; "but the proof--"

"Oh, yes, the proof--I can find you proof enough. I myself can solemnly declare that, during the whole of that night, baboe Dalima never left my house at all. And not only so, but all the members of my family are ready to declare as much."

"Well!" said Meidema, "then all I can say is that the case is beginning to assume a very serious aspect."

"Why! What are you driving at now?" exclaimed van Gulpendam. "Come, man, fire away!"

"I mean that your statement directly contradicts the word of your daughter."

"My daughter--the chatter of a silly girl!"

"Not so, Resident," continued Meidema, very seriously, "I have in my possession a formal statement in Miss van Gulpendam's own handwriting, in which she gives a detailed account of baboe Dalima's abduction, of her forcible detention on board the schooner brig Kiem Ping Hin, and of her rescue by Ardjan."

Van Gulpendam turned pale at those words, he felt as if he had received a stunning blow; Mr. Meidema, however, did not allow him time to recover his composure, but continued:

"I have further in my possession the sworn testimony of the mate and the crew of the coastguard ship Matamata, which proves that on the night in question they manned the cutter in order to give chase to a surf-boat which contained two persons. That they fired upon them; but that they were compelled to give up the chase because of the tremendous sea that was running at Moeara Tjatjing in which their clumsy craft would have had no chance to keep afloat. Thus you perceive, Resident, that there were actually two persons in that boat, and that, consequently, there could have been no room for the opium. Moreover--"

"What else?" broke in van Gulpendam, who was gradually recovering from his surprise.

"Moreover, the surf-boat was dashed to pieces on the beach. I saw the wreck lying partly in the water and partly covered with mud, and I have witnesses to prove that the cases, in which the smuggled opium was packed, had not been in contact with sea-water at all. No, no, Resident, I am firmly persuaded that the stuff never came ashore in that boat, and further, that Ardjan has had no hand in the transaction."

For a few moments the Resident sat lost in thought.

"Mr. Meidema," he said at length, "have you, as you were bound to do, employed an expert to ascertain the quantity, the quality, and the particular kind of opium that was found?"

"Yes, Resident, I have done so."

"Have you secured the surf-boat itself?"

"Yes, Resident," replied Meidema, "I did so; but, owing to some strange neglect for which I am unable to account, the watchman at the town jail, who had charge of the boat and with whom I had deposited it for safety, had broken up the boat and used the timber for firewood."

A smile flitted over van Gulpendam's features, as he muttered, inaudibly: "I have found the leak, I can caulk it," and then, aloud, he said: "That's a thousand pities--to whose negligence do you ascribe that?--But, never mind, we can look into that some other time. Now, Mr. Meidema, will you allow me to give you a piece of good advice?"

"Oh, Resident, you know, I am always most happy to receive good advice," was the reply.

"Your finances," continued van Gulpendam, "are not in the most flourishing condition, I think. Eh?"

"Resident!"

"You have a large family--and your expenses must be considerable. Well then, my advice to you is this: Try and arrange matters quietly with the opium farmer."

"What do you mean, Resident?" cried Meidema, in utter amazement.

"You are shrewd enough, Mr. Meidema, to understand my drift. Lim Yang Bing is a wealthy man, and a kind, indulgent father. His son, you know, is on the eve of making an excellent match. He won't be so very particular just now as to what he pays."

"Resident!"

"And then," continued van Gulpendam, "another piece of advice let me give you. Very luckily for you the court, which was to have sat to-day and given judgment on that opium-case, has been adjourned. You see, you have yet time to alter that report of yours; which, I must say, appears to me to be drawn up with too much partiality."

"That I will never do!" cried Meidema, vehemently interrupting his chief.

"Mr. Meidema," resumed van Gulpendam, "I am merely giving you friendly advice. You have a large family--there are a good many mouths to feed. However, think the matter over well."

"No, never, never, Resident!"

"Very well, in that case our interview may be considered at an end. But don't be in a hurry, think it over well."

When Mr. Meidema had left, the Resident stood for a while gazing after him. At length, hoarse with passion, he cried out: "That opposition must be overcome."

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXV. EVE'S DAUGHTERS AND THE SERPENT

A couple of days after Mrs. Meidema was sitting with her two daughters in one of the hinder galleries of her house. Our reader has already made a slight acquaintance with the pretty pair of twins on the occasion of the reception and ball at the Residence. They were now sitting with their mother, very busy mending a heap of boys' clothing which appeared to be in a deplorable state.

"It is too bad,--really it is shameful," said Gesina. "Now just do look at this, mother,--why the sleeve is literally torn out of it, and there is a huge rent right in the breast. I say, mother, do you think that jacket is worth patching up?"

"To be sure it is, Sijntje," replied the mother, "now just you set to work with a will."

"Those good-for-nothing boys!" cried Gesina, "they keep us stitching for them all day long."

"Come, come," threw in her sister Matilda, "boys will be boys, and ours are so full of spirits."

"That is no reason, I suppose," said Gesina, "why they should be climbing trees all day, and get their clothes in such a frightful state."

"How do you suppose a boy is to keep out of a tree?" asked Matilda. "If I were a boy I would do just the same."

The mother smiled at her daughter's warm defence of her little brothers. "Oh, yes," said she, "it would be a pretty sight to see Matilda up a tree."

The two young girls had a laugh at the idea, and then Gesina said, "Don't you think, mother dear, that you might get us a needlewoman to help us with all this heap of clothes."

"My dear girl, what are you thinking about?" asked Mrs. Meidema.

"Well," continued Matilda, coming to her sister's help, "I must say I think the idea a very good one."

"But, my dear girls, pray remember that a needlewoman would have to be paid, and pray where is the money to come from?"

"Anna van Gulpendam," put in Matilda quickly, "I know always has her needlewoman."

"No doubt she has," said Mrs Meidema; "but you must remember, Tilda, that Anna is an only child, and that she is, moreover, the Resident's daughter."

"Is there then very much difference, mother, between the income of a Resident and that of an Assistant Resident."

"I should think so, indeed," replied Mrs. Meidema; "the Resident draws fifteen hundred guilders a month at least, and your father has at the most but five hundred."

"So much difference as that," said Matilda, seriously; "indeed I never thought it was so much."

"And then, Tilda dear," continued her mother, "as I said before, the Resident has but one daughter, and we have five children to provide for."

"Are children very expensive?" asked Gesina.

"You can reckon it up for yourself, Sijntje--there is food to get and clothing and school-fees and--oh, ever so many odds and ends besides."

"It is a pity!" sighed the girl, after a while.

"What is a pity?"

"It is a pity that boys are such an expensive luxury, for they are jolly little fellows."

"Now did you ever hear such a girl?" laughed Mrs. Meidema, "first she grumbles at the trouble those good-for-nothing boys give her, and then she calls them jolly little fellows!"

"Well, mother dear, you must let me grumble a bit now and then, I really can't help it when we have such a heap of boys' clothes to mend," and with these words the young girl laid her fair head lovingly on her mother's shoulder.

"Money is not everything," said Matilda, sententiously, as she kept on stitching busily, while Mrs. Meidema was running her fingers through her daughter's flowing curls.

The difference between her father's income and the pay of Resident van Gulpendam led Matilda to make this philosophical remark.

"Of course not, Matilda," replied Gesina, "of course not; money is not everything--look at us now, are we not happy?"

"Yes," said Matilda, "and to complete the comparison, could anyone be happier even in the Residence itself? Oh, when I come to think over what has happened, I cannot help feeling very sad. Poor, poor Anna!"

"Have you had any news from her?" asked Gesina, who by this time had resumed her work.

"Yes, this morning I had a letter from Karang Anjer, such a wretchedly sad letter. Knowing Anna's character as I do I can read despair in every word, and I fear--oh, yes, I fear, the very worst--She is capable, I do really think, of any desperate deed."

"But," cried Gesina, "what can be the matter with her?"

"I do not know the rights of it all," replied her sister. "On those matters Anna is very reserved; but what I know is that her parents will not consent to her marriage with van Nerekool."

"Oh, she will soon get tired of Karang Anjer, and then we shall have her back again."

"I think not; indeed she writes to tell me that it is her intention never to return. Her letter is so full of sorrow, so miserably despondent, it reads to me like a last farewell--as it were a parting for life. She writes to me as her best and truest friend, and beseeches me not to cast a stone at her should her despair prompt her to a step which will make the world scorn her memory. Mother dear, what am I to do, what can I do to relieve her--I wish I could go to see her at Karang Anjer!"

"My dear child," said Mrs. Meidema quietly, "the very best thing you can do is to allude as little as possible, in your correspondence with Anna, to her attachment to van Nerekool. She has, as you yourself say, not taken you fully into her confidence; and from this you may conclude that there exist secrets which you cannot, without indiscretion, touch upon; and which it would only increase her pain to needlessly pry into. Time is the great healer, and it must have its soothing effect upon Anna in her distress. I know something of what has been going on, and I am in hopes that things may yet turn out well."

"You know what has happened, mother?" cried Matilda, "do tell me all about it. I am so dearly fond of Anna, that anything which concerns her has, for me, the greatest interest."

"Matilda," replied Mrs. Meidema, "Anna, who I do not think herself knows just how matters stand, has thought it right to keep silent before you. She has, in my opinion, acted very wisely."

"But, mother!"

"Yes, I say, she has acted very wisely in this matter, for she might perhaps have had to reveal to you a depth of wickedness which a young girl may very well remain ignorant of. You must allow me to follow her example. Just now you said, very wisely too, that money is not everything in the world. You were quite right, it is not. There now you see before you a family to which money is no object, which possesses moreover all other requisites for happiness, such as health, consideration, the highest position in our little society; and yet you see there is no happiness. No, money is not everything--But yet--"

As she said it, the poor woman heaved a deep sigh. The fact that she was sitting there with her daughters hard at work, showed plainly enough that the earthly dross was not altogether so indifferent to her as her words might seem to imply--and she hesitated to go on--her girls looked up at her with an inquiring glance.

"But yet?" asked Gesina. "Pray finish what you had to say, mother."

"Well," continued Mrs. Meidema, "I had but very little to add; yet a couple of hundred guilders a year more would greatly improve our position. We have very heavy expenses to meet, we have a great deal of money to find; and--"

The awning which separated the back-gallery from the grounds beyond, and sheltered it from the glaring light outside, was here suddenly flung aside, admitting a dazzling flood of sunlight which made the three ladies look up in surprise.

"Babah Lim Yang Bing wishes to speak with the master," said one of the servants.

"But your master is not in, he is at his office," replied Mrs. Meidema, "you know that as well as I do."

"I told the babah so, njonja," said the man.

"Well?"

"He wishes to speak to the njonja."

Mrs. Meidema made a gesture of impatience. But Lim Yang Bing, the wealthiest Chinaman in the residence of Santjoemeh--perhaps the richest man in all Dutch India--was not the kind of man who could very well be turned away. It was, moreover, no very unusual thing for him to come and pay his respects to the ladies and, on such occasions, he generally had some pretty little nick-nacks to show.

"Very well, show him in," said Mrs. Meidema.

The needle-work had in all haste to be put away and concealed, and some light fancy work had to be snatched up; for it would never do to let that Chinaman see a European family employed in such drudgery.

"Tabeh njonja, tabeh nonna nonna. Saja halap--"

But we will not attempt to reproduce the Chinaman's execrable Malay. In fact it would hardly be possible to do so, as the men of his nationality find the greatest difficulty to pronounce some of the consonants, and their talk is often extremely difficult to understand.

"Good-morning, madam; good-morning, young ladies," said he most courteously, "I hope I am not intruding. I thought I might have found the Assistant Resident at home; but since I am not so fortunate, I take the liberty of paying my respects to the ladies--in the first place to inquire after their health, and also to tell them a great piece of news."

"News?" asked Mrs. Meidema, who like most women did not lack curiosity. "Pray be seated, babah."

And, turning to the native servant who was sitting cross-legged on the steps of the gallery, she said:

"Todrono, bring a chair."

As the Chinaman took his seat, the two girls looked at him with wonder-waiting eyes.

"And now, babah, for your important news!" said Mrs. Meidema, somewhat eager to hear it.

"First," said Lim Yang Bing with another bow, "allow me to inquire after the state of the ladies' health."

"Oh, thank you," replied Mrs. Meidema, "we are all perfectly well."

"Toean Allah be praised," cried the Chinaman in high-flown tones, but with the sweetest of smiles on his lips.

"Now for your news, babah!" cried Gesina impatiently.

"Yes, nonna, I don't wonder at your curiosity, you are quite right, the young ladies especially will enjoy it."

"But, babah, do pray speak out, tell me what it is all about," cried Matilda as eagerly as her sister.

"Well," said the Chinaman, "it is about a wedding."

"A wedding!" exclaimed one.

"A Chinese wedding?" asked the other.

"Yes, ladies, yes, a Chinese wedding, as you say," replied Lim Yang Bing, laying as much stress as he could upon his words.

"Delightful!" cried both the young girls.

"And who may the happy couple be?" asked Mrs. Meidema somewhat more soberly.

"I may not tell you that, nja."

"Oh!" said Gesina with much disappointment in her voice, "then it is not decided yet."

"Yes," replied Lim Yang Bing, "it is quite certain; it is so far decided indeed that I have samples of the silk with me now."

"Samples of the silk!" cried both the young girls in a breath.

"Yes, the samples of silk. You surely must have heard, young ladies, that on such occasions the betrothed couple always make some little presents to the invited guests. And since you ladies will, I hope, honour me by witnessing the ceremony, I have ventured to bring the samples along with me. Very fine silk indeed; I ordered it on purpose from Nan Hioeng. But you must judge for yourselves, ladies."

Therewith he produced a small parcel which he carefully unfastened and the contents of which he displayed to the women's admiring gaze.

"Oh!" cried Gesina, "just look at that lovely green shot with red! what a charming dress that would make!"

"And," exclaimed Matilda, "what a splendid blue! Dark blue with flowers. If I had to choose, I would--"

"And will not Mrs. Meidema make her choice?" asked Lim Yang Bing.

Mrs. Meidema could not help casting an eye upon the seductive parcel but--she hesitated.

"Come, come, pray select a sample for yourself, madam," said the Chinaman with a supplicating look.

"But--babah--" she began, "I have never heard of gifts offered at Chinese weddings. I know they are customary at the New Year."

"Yes, yes njonja, you are quite right, on that occasion we offer gifts all round to all our acquaintances; but at a wedding we only do so to our old friends, and--I take the liberty of reckoning the Assistant Resident among my very good friends."

"Yes, but babah, you know Mr. Meidema, do you not?"

"Surely the njonja would not refuse my poor little present," interrupted the Chinaman.

"Oh, mother, dear!" whispered Gesina beseechingly.

"No, babah, I will not downright refuse; but before coming to any decision or making any choice, I must have a talk to my husband."

"Of course, of course," hastily said Lim Yang Bing, "that is nothing more than right and proper. It makes matters, in fact, easier for me, as perhaps, madam, you would not mind to intercede for me with the Assistant Resident."

"Intercede for you, babah!" cried Mrs. Meidema now thoroughly surprised. "You know that my intercession has but very little influence with my husband."

The Chinaman smiled--it was a cunning leer, as he said:

"No, no, madam, I did not mean you to intercede for me--I cannot have expressed myself properly--what I meant was--to intercede for the bridegroom."

"For the bridegroom?" asked Mrs. Meidema. "Oh, yes; but who is the happy man, babah?"

"Madam, that is a secret--However, I may just as well tell you at once; as soon as you know who he is I feel sure I can reckon upon your sympathy. Well, the happy man, then, is my son Lim Ho."

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Meidema very coolly, "and who is the young lady?"

"Ngow Ming Nio."

"The daughter of Ngow Ming Than--is she not? A very pretty girl and a very rich girl too--I am sure I congratulate you, babah."

"And now, may I reckon upon you, madam, to intercede for Lim Ho?" asked the Chinaman.

"I do not see," said Mrs. Meidema, "in what Lim Ho can need my intercession."

"Ah, well," sighed Lim Yang Bing, "I fear that the poor boy is not in very good odour with the Assistant Resident. If only you would speak a good word for him, madam."

"But why? His marriage can have nothing to do with Mr. Meidema."

"No, njonja; but--" said the Chinaman dropping his voice, "You see there is something about an opium business in which the poor boy has got mixed up."

"I will have nothing whatever to do with that sort of thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Meidema now fairly frightened. "There, babah, please put those samples up again."

The Chinaman was taken aback, he reluctantly rolled up the parcel and slowly and deliberately put it into his pocket.

"But, njonja," he mumbled, "the poor fellow is as innocent as the babe unborn."

"I won't hear anything about it, babah, not another word, please, on the subject."

"If only the toean Assistant Resident would hear what he has to say," insisted Lim Yang Bing.

"Come, mother," whispered Gesina, who, to her infinite vexation saw the splendid silk dress fading away on the horizon, "If father would but hear what Lim Ho has to say for himself."

Mrs. Meidema again hesitated.

"Well," said she, "if my intercession is to go no further than that--I can see no objection to ask my husband to do that."

"Mother, take care!" said Matilda in a very low but very warning voice.

"I am infinitely obliged to the njonja," said the Chinaman as he took Mrs. Meidema's hand and gratefully pressed it. "I shall leave these samples here with you--"

"Oh, no! no! I will have nothing to do with them."

"But, mother," whispered Gesina.

"Mother, take care!" said Matilda as softly.

Lim Yang Bing did not at all like these whisperings of the two young ladies, and so he hastened to say: "My dear madam, I can assure you that those poor samples have nothing in the world to do with your pleading for my son. I have the honour of inviting you and your two charming daughters--and of course, Mr. Meidema--to be present at my son's marriage. There is not much harm in that I hope. I reckon you among my good friends and, as an acknowledgment of the honour which your presence will confer upon them, the young couple beg you to accept a slight present. In that no one will see any harm I hope; in fact it is simply our national custom. So far, I think we are agreed. This small parcel of samples I will leave here in order that the ladies may have time to make their choice and to talk over the whole matter with the Assistant Resident when he comes in."

Put thus plausibly, the offer could hardly be refused. But even if Mrs. Meidema had wished to make an objection she had no time to do so; for the wily Chinaman had very hurriedly put down the parcel on the table, had muttered his tabehs with a few hasty words to the effect that he intended to look in again and ascertain what choice the ladies had made, and then had disappeared.

When once the babah was fairly out of the place, the two young girls looked at each other and at their mother.

Gesina with a smile on her pretty lips, Matilda with a very serious expression of countenance.

"A Chinese wedding!" exclaimed the former. "No doubt there will be a reception and then, what a splendid dance we shall have. When the Chinese do give a party they know how to do it well!"

"Do keep quiet, Sijntje," said Mrs. Meidema. She spoke reprovingly, although, as a loving mother, she was pleased to see her girl's radiant looks. They had so few opportunities to go out, especially to such parties as this promised to be. Once a year they got an invitation to the Residence, and that was all.

"And how fine I shall look," continued the girl in her glee, "in my new silk dress." She took the parcel from the table, "Oh, yes," said she, "I have quite made up my mind, I choose the green silk. And you Tilda?"

"I don't know," replied the other, "but somehow, I feel that all this bodes misfortune."

"Oh, I say, how very silly! Just look at these samples!" cried Gesina as she opened the bundle. "Oh, what a splendid bit of brown silk--look mother, dear, that is something for you! And that deep blue is Tilda's choice; it is fine, yes it is very fine; but the green is to my mind the best of all. Just look--But--But--what is that!"

Gesina was spreading the piece of silk on her knee in order to bring out the fine effect of the colours. As she did so--something slid out of the packet and fell at her feet. For a moment the three ladies sat there as if petrified, for at a glance they had recognized bank-notes--papers of five hundred guilders. At length Gesina stooped and picked them up. She counted them, one, two, three--up to ten.

"Five thousand guilders!" she stammered in utter confusion. "How could they have got into the parcel? It must be some mistake of the babah's--surely he must have made some mistake."

"I feared as much!" thought Matilda almost aloud.

"Five thousand guilders!" The thought flashed through Mrs. Meidema's brain as she took the parcel and the papers from her daughter's hand, "Five thousand guilders!"

Her first impulse was to send at once after the babah and to call him back--to give him his money, and to have him and his samples and his notes kicked out of the house. Five thousand guilders! And the Chinaman was already so far away. Five thousand guilders! Was it wise to let the servants know all this--no certainly not--it would not be wise. Five thousand guilders! It was about as much as her husband's salary for ten months amounted to. She took up the notes, looked at them, smoothed them down one by one, then rolled them together. Five thousand guilders! That would pay all those troublesome tradesmen's bills, and even then, when every farthing was paid, there would be a nice little sum left. Then Meidema might get leave of absence for a while to go into the hill-country. He wanted a change, lately he had been looking very poorly--a couple of weeks' holidays in the hills would quite set him up. Five thousand guilders! The boys might have new jackets. All these thoughts however were cut short by the rumbling of carriage wheels on the drive.

"That is father!" cried Gesina, "quick! put away those samples and notes!"

She tried to seize them, she had already hastily rolled up the whole parcel together and was about to hide it under the coarse needlework with which they had been busy as the Chinaman came in. But her mother took it from her and quietly laid it upon the table before her. The voice of her husband was heard in the front gallery giving some orders to his servant, and that voice had startled the good woman out of the train of evil thoughts which had unconsciously risen up within her, and which had threatened to lead her astray from the path of duty. No, no, from the man by whose side she had courageously walked for the best part of her life, she could have no secret; from him, whom she had followed for so many years in weal and in woe, she would have nothing hidden. She determined to lay everything open before her husband, he might then act as he thought best. True, they were very poor; but she felt that she must abide by his decision.

All these thoughts, in a moment of time, flashed through the mind of this brave and loyal wife, and when Meidema walked into the back-gallery her mind was fully made up.

The girls jumped up to give their father the usual kiss, the mother also rose to welcome him. But Meidema saw, at a single glance, that there was something wrong. He put his hands on his wife's shoulders and steadily looking her in the face he said cheerily: "I say, mammy dear--is there any news?"

"Yes, Meidema, there is," replied his wife gravely, "sit down, I have something to tell you!"

"I say, old girl, you look very serious, are the girls in the way?"

"No, no, let them stay, I have no secrets that they may not hear--in fact I prefer them to be here."

"My love, how solemn you are! Is there anything wrong? Anything to do with them eh? Have they had an offer? No? Of course not, you would not have looked so black if they had."

"Now pray," said his wife, "pray do not talk such nonsense."

"Oh, I see, it must be those boys! they have been naughty--trousers torn, jackets in holes! Yes--those youngsters are an awful nuisance--Never mind all that will come right by-and-by."

"All that will come right!"--At those words he stopped short, poor man! his interview with the Resident then came to his memory and he began restlessly to pace up and down the gallery. He took out his cigar-case and looked at Matilda.

She jumped up, "May I light it for you, father?" she said.

She put the cheroot to her lips, lighted a match, and drew a few whiffs. As the smoke went curling up her nostrils and into her eyes, she made a funny little grimace--then she coughed slightly and closed her eyes, and, when the cigar was well lighted, she gave it to her father saying:

"Ah bah, horrid! How can you gentlemen like that nasty smoke?"

"Why you little minx!" said her father laughing, "you have lit it at the wrong end!"

"It is more economical, father."

"Perhaps so; but that is why it tastes nasty."

"Well, father," said Matilda suddenly growing serious, "now please sit down and attend to mother."

"Yes, Meidema, please sit down," said his wife; "I have to talk to you on a most serious matter."

"All right, wifey--here I am seated--now I am all ears."

"Babah Lim Yang Bing has been here this morning!"

"Indeed!--I met him a few minutes ago, he greeted me most politely--more politely in fact than usually."

"Do you know, Meidema, what he came here for?"

"What he came here for? Not I," replied the husband somewhat astonished at his wife's words. The name of the opium-farmer had roused some suspicion within him though he was unable to guess what his errand might have been. "I suppose," said he, after a moment's pause, "I suppose he merely dropped in to have a chat."

"Do you know," said Mrs. Meidema, "that his son Lim Ho is about to be married?"

"Yes, I have heard some such rumour. To the daughter of that rich old Chinaman--is it not?"

"Yes, father," interrupted Gesina, "to pretty little Ngow Ming Nio."

"Lim Yang Bing," continued Mrs. Meidema, "was here this morning to invite you and me and the girls to the wedding."

"All right," replied Meidema, "the girls will have rare fun; I daresay you know," he continued, as he patted the cheek of one of the twins, "you know a Chinese marriage is a most interesting ceremony. Is that then the reason why you all look so solemn? Oh, aye--I see--it is about the dresses. The other day when the Resident gave his ball we had some trouble about that. It is a great expense no doubt; but--"

"No, Meidema, that is not troubling me, for the Chinaman offers us a present."

"A present!" shouted the Assistant Resident.

"Yes, he tells me that, on such occasions, they always give presents."

"Quite right--some sweetmeats, a few cakes, perhaps. But what of that?"

"No, no," said his wife, "not sweetmeats at all; but silk for dresses."

"Silk!" cried Meidema, "the fellow must have gone mad! I never have heard of any such presents; and yet I have been a good while in India."

"He has even left some samples here with us," continued Mrs. Meidema, "very fine silk, I assure you, most splendid quality. But there was one slight condition attached to his gift."

"Indeed! a condition! what might that be?"

"That I should intercede with you for Lim Ho."

"For Lim Ho--oh, oh! and what did you say to that?"

"I told him I would have nothing to do with it."

"Where are these samples?" cried Meidema. "Hand them to me, I will fling them into the fire."

"Now Meidema, do be quiet for a bit!"

"Intercede for Lim Ho! So! they thought to bribe you with a yard or two of silk!"

"No, no Meidema, not only with a yard or two of silk--just open that parcel."

The inspector tore it open, and, in his excitement he cried, "Where is it?"

The banknotes fell to the ground. Pale and utterly unnerved he picked them up, he opened them, looked at his wife and daughters with a stern look; but he spoke not a word. At length, breaking out into a curse, he crumpled up the whole parcel of samples and notes together into one formless mass as he hoarsely cried: "The devil take that d--d Chinaman! the fellow shall pay for this!" And calling to his servant he cried: "Todrono, have the horses put in!"

Ten seconds later he had dashed out of the room.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXVI. NEATLY MANAGED

"Yes, Resident, I accuse the opium farmer of a gross attempt at bribery."

Such were the words with which Mr. Meidema concluded his detailed account to Mr. van Gulpendam of what had taken place at his house that morning.

"Avast! Mr. Meidema, steady a bit! You are going ahead much too fast. Can you be quite sure that the five thousand guilders were concealed in that parcel of silk samples for the purpose of bribery?"

"I have already told you, Resident, that what he came for was to induce my wife to exert her influence over me in favour of Lim Ho. Yes, most decidedly. I know that the money was intended for a bribe."

"But, Mr. Meidema," observed the Resident, "would it not be much more charitable to suppose that Lim Yang Bing, who is, by nature, a kind and generous man, really felt some concern at your financial difficulties?"

"My financial difficulties!" exclaimed Meidema, fairly white with rage. "I should like to find out who spreads those absurd rumours. I am not rich, I admit; but if every man's affairs were in as good order as mine! Then--"

"Let us not get out of our course, my dear sir," remarked van Gulpendam, interrupting him at the right moment.

"Very good, Resident, I do not wish to do so; but who gives that confounded Chinaman any right to trouble himself about my private affairs. What right has he to offer my wife and daughters presents of five thousand guilders?"

"But, can you be sure it was meant for a gift?"

"What else could the money have been meant for?" asked Meidema.

"Well, I don't know," replied van Gulpendam, "but might not the notes have got mixed up with the samples of silk purely by accident? You ought to know how carelessly such fellows handle paper money, they sometimes have a whole bundle of it loose in their pockets. Now I am persuaded, on the contrary, that when presently you meet Lim Yang Bing the whole business will be explained to your satisfaction. I will send for him. Have you any objection?"

"None whatever, Resident; but the fellow may say or swear what he likes; it will not alter my opinion, and nothing will make me retract my charge against him."

"Don't be in such a hurry to blow off steam, Mr. Meidema, just allow me to prick your chart for you, and you will soon see that you are out of your course altogether."

Hereupon van Gulpendam called one of his oppassers, and ordered the man to mount, and to ride off full speed to the opium farmer's house. "Tell him I want him to come to me at once."

The two gentlemen had hardly spent half-an-hour in conversation on the ordinary topics of the day, when an elegant carriage, drawn by two splendid Persian horses, dashed up to the gate of the residential mansion. A few moments later a servant announced the opium farmer.

"Show him in," said the Resident.

Lim Yang Bing sauntered into the room with his usual listless air and with the stereotyped smile on his lips. The oppasser had already told him that he would find the Assistant Resident of Police with his Excellency, and he looked upon this as a good sign; and had no doubt but that his troublesome smuggling question would be settled off-hand. He therefore greeted the gentlemen with great cordiality. "Tabeh, Kandjeng toean, toean!"

The Resident pointed to a chair, and as soon as Lim Yang Bing was seated, he began:

"Babah, Assistant Resident Meidema, fancies that he has reason to complain of your conduct."

"No, no!" exclaimed Meidema, interrupting his superior officer, "I do not fancy anything of the kind, I actually do lodge an accusation against him."

Both gentlemen spoke in Malay, and the Chinaman was thus able to understand all that was said.

"And what cause of complaint may he have?" asked the Celestial, with his imperturbable smile.

"You ask me," replied Meidema, "what I accuse you of? I will tell you. I accuse you of offering me a bribe--to me, the head of the police!"

"I, Kandjeng toean?" asked the Chinaman, with well acted surprise. "When could I have done such a thing?"

"Not much more than an hour ago," was the reply. "Just now, this very morning at my own house!"

"The toean Assistant Resident must be poking fun at me. It is true that I met him a little while ago; but I had not the honour of exchanging so much as a single word with him."

"I know that well enough," interrupted Meidema impetuously; "but did you not this morning call at my house?"

The Chinaman looked upon the interview as a farce, in which every actor had to play his part. He had often acted in such little plays himself and had performed pretty creditably on such occasions. He continued therefore; "Oh, yes, Kandjeng toean, I did pay your ladies a visit, it was to invite you and them to the wedding, just in the same way, and for the same purpose, as I called at the Residence to invite the njonja and his Excellency."

"Indeed!" said Meidema, sarcastically, "I suppose you came to offer silk dresses to the njonja Resident? Eh?"

Lim Yang Bing winced under the blow; and his sallow face grew several shades paler. It was beginning to dawn upon him that matters were serious after all, and, in some confusion, he glanced at the Resident; but van Gulpendam, who was seated directly opposite to the Assistant Resident, could not, just then, make him any sign; yet Lim Yang Bing thought he could detect an encouraging expression in the Resident's eye.

"And," continued Meidema, with increasing vehemence, "that you offered the njonja Resident a roll of bank-notes also. Did you not?"

As he spoke these words, he flung the money down before him on the writing-table as if it burned his fingers.

At this the Chinaman turned livid--for a moment he was utterly confounded.

"There! you see, Resident!" continued Meidema, pointing to the farmer. "You see! Why, guilt is written in every line of the fellow's face!"

At these words Lim Yang Bing recovered his presence of mind, he jumped up at once, snatched up the crumpled notes, spread them out before him, and began deliberately to count them, "one, two, three, four--ten." Then slowly raising his expressionless eyes to Meidema's face, he asked:

"Does the toean Assistant Resident really intend to accuse me of attempting to bribe him?"

"Yes, babah, I do most decidedly accuse you of it."

"But, may I ask, why then does not the Kandjeng toean give me back the whole sum?" asked the Chinaman, very composedly, and with the usual smirk on his lips.

"The whole sum?" cried Meidema, utterly taken aback, "what on earth can the fellow mean?"

"Yes, toean," replied Lim Yang Bing, "I said, the whole sum. I have felt for some time that the toean Assistant Resident is by no means kindly disposed to me or mine; but I think it is not quite fair of him to fling me back a small part of my money, and so to try and ruin me, while he keeps back the greater part for himself."

All this he said without showing the slightest emotion, without the slightest heat, without so much as even raising his voice; but in the drawling sing-song way in which Chinamen generally speak; and with the obsequious smirk which Chinese features always wear when the owner is addressing a superior.

"Babah!" shouted Meidema trembling with rage, "take care of yourself, don't go too far!"

But Lim Yang Bing felt his advantage, and was not to be intimidated. With the same false smile and in the same drawling tones he continued:

"But I clearly see what the toean Assistant Resident is aiming at. The greater part of the present which I took the liberty of offering to the njonja he keeps for himself, and to that he intends to add the fine which Lim Ho will have to pay, should he be found guilty of smuggling instead of Ardjan. It is not at all a bad idea, I admit; but I leave it to the Kandjeng toean to say whether he thinks it quite fair and honest."

Meidema sat there as if thunderstruck. A terrible suspicion began to arise within him. Yes! his money matters were not by any means in a healthy state. His housekeeping was an expensive one, all that, he felt, was true enough. Could his wife under the hard pressure of circumstances--could she have been induced to yield to the temptation, might she possibly not have told him the whole truth? Might she perhaps have mentioned to him only part of the bribe she had received, just to see how he would take it? Yes! that must be it--His wife and his daughters! Yes! now it flashed across him that they seemed much confused when he came in. And then the line of conduct which he had adopted before the Resident who, he felt, was no friend to him--with an awful imprecation he sprang to his feet:

"Babah!" he exclaimed, "you are an impudent liar!"

"If the toean Assistant Resident becomes abusive," said Lim Yang Bing with the same imperturbable calmness, "then I must request the Kandjeng toean to give me leave to retire."

"Mr. Meidema," said van Gulpendam sternly, "I must beg of you to moderate your language."

"How much do you say there was in that packet?" asked Meidema, in despair.

"I offered the njonja Assistant Resident ten bank notes of a thousand, and ten of five hundred guilders."

Poor Meidema fairly moaned with anguish and dismay.

"Is that true?" he asked again, with faltering tongue.

"I swear it!" was the quiet reply.

"Oh! I must go and get to the bottom of this!" cried the wretched man, as he frantically rushed from the room.

The Chinaman and the Resident watched him with a curious smile.

"Splendidly parried, babah!" cried van Gulpendam admiringly, and then muttering to himself, he said: "I wonder what port that obstinate fool will make for in this storm."

"Perhaps the Kandjeng toean will now allow me to retire?" asked Lim Yang Bing, with much humility.

"Certainly, babah, certainly, let me not detain you." And, after the usual compliments had been exchanged, the Chinaman took his leave.

"Deep fellow that Chinaman, devilish deep! Aye, aye, those who dabble in opium must have their wits about them, they must know how to trim their sails!"

Foaming with rage, Meidema got home. He could not wait until his carriage had reached the door; it had scarcely got into the grounds, before he jumped out crying to the coachman, "Wait for me!"

He traversed the fore and inner galleries at a bound, and when he reached the back-room where the ladies of his family were still sitting at their needlework, he flew up to his wife, who, noticing at once his excited state, rose from her chair. He grasped both her wrists in his iron grasp, and, exerting all his strength, he forced her down on her knees before him.

All this had passed so quickly that, although the two girls had also sprung up, yet neither of them understood what was going on.

"There!" roared the infuriated husband, "there! that is your proper position! And now answer me. Where is the rest of the money?"

"What money?" asked his wife in alarm.

"The ten thousand guilders!" thundered Meidema.

"What ten thousand guilders?" asked his unhappy wife, still on her knees. "Meidema! let go my wrists, you are hurting me!"

"No, I shall not let you go until you have told me where you have hidden the money."

"What money are you talking about?"

"The ten thousand guilders you had from the opium farmer!"

"Father," said Gesina, "let mother go, and listen to me, I will tell you all about it."

"You!" roared her father without releasing his wife whom he still kept kneeling before him.

"I took the parcel from Lim Yang Bing," continued the young girl. "It was I who opened it, and we all admired the samples of silk. At that time, I swear to you, father, there were no notes in it. I swear it by all that I hold dear! When mother refused to listen to his conditions, he put the parcel back into his pocket. Later on, mother consented to speak to you about Lim Ho and to consult you about the silk, then, the babah flung the parcel on the table and hurried away."

"But the ten thousand guilders!" cried Meidema impatiently.

"Let me finish what I have to say, father," continued the young girl. "As soon as he was gone I again took up the samples. And now I come to think of it, they were not the same we had admired before. At the time, however, I did not notice the change. I took one of the samples and spread it on my knee to bring out the effect of the colours, and then--the notes fell out of the packet to the floor."

"Fifteen thousand guilders!" said the father who had been listening with impatience but had not lost a word.

"No, father, not fifteen thousand; there were ten five hundred guilder notes. There were no more than that," replied the girl in a firm and steady voice.

"Is that the truth?" asked her father as he fixed his eye on his wife and children.

But there was so much honesty and innocence in the eyes of his twins; and his wife looked up at him so firmly and trustfully, that further doubt was impossible, while all three as with one mouth and in one breath said:

"That is the truth."

Then the wretched man raised his wife from the floor where she was still on her knees before him. He clasped her in his arms and, as he pressed her to his heart, he cried in a lamentable voice:

"My God! my God! I am a miserable wretch! I have dared to suspect my darlings--the only ones I love upon earth!"

And, stretching out his arms, he flung them round the neck of his wife and children as sobbing, he cried: "Oh, my dearest ones, can you ever forgive me?"

Standing thus, the four formed a group which would have charmed a sculptor; but which must have filled with rapture the heart of any true friend of man. The wife, the daughters, overwhelmed the man, who a moment before had so brutally treated them, with kisses and caresses. Oh, they could so well place themselves in his position--they could so well understand why he had been blinded by passion!

"Was I not right?" said Matilda, "when I feared that the parcel boded us no good."

"But do tell me, Meidema," asked his wife, "what can have happened that has so terribly unnerved you?"

"That beastly Chinaman," he cried, "actually declared in the Resident's presence that he had given you not five but fifteen thousand guilders."

"Good God, how infamous!" exclaimed Mrs. Meidema.

"Infamous, yes most infamous! but what can one expect from a wretched speculator in opium? Such a fellow as that is capable of any infamy."

"But," asked the anxious mother, "may not all this do you a deal of harm?" She had some little insight into the intrigues carried on in Dutch India.

"Yes," sighed Meidema, "no doubt it will. If I had to do with honest people, it would not trouble me much; but now!--However, I must see what I can do. My carriage is still at the door--I am off straight to the Resident."

"That's a queer story of yours, Mr. Meidema."

Such was the only remark which Mr. van Gulpendam thought proper to make when Meidema had most indignantly given him a full account of what had occurred. While he spoke, the Resident had been sitting most attentively listening to his words; but the expression of his countenance showed no sign of sympathy. Now and then there was even a slight motion of impatience and an incredulous smile. That studied indifference and almost insolent smile exasperated the already over-wrought Assistant Resident to such a degree that, when at length his superior officer made his most unfeeling remark, he could not help crying out with indignation:

"A queer story you call it, Resident. You mean, I suppose, a most infamous business!"

"He, he, he! Mr. Meidema, not quite so fast if you please."

"But, Resident, what do you mean--Do you not then think it a most infamous business?"

"Oh, yes, most certainly I do; but the question is for whom?"

"For whom? Is that the question, Resident? Then it appears to me you do not believe me."

"Don't be in a hurry, Mr. Meidema, just listen quietly to me."

"But, Resident, this is a matter which demands an instant explanation. If you do not take my word--"

"Now, Mr. Assistant Resident, I beg you will allow me to speak."

These words Mr. van Gulpendam uttered with that measured tone of voice, and with that dignity which only a Resident knows how to assume. They brought about an immediate and entire change in his subordinate's demeanour. Meidema at once mastered his excitement, he replied not a single word; but only bowed in sign that he was ready to listen.

"I said just now," began the Resident, "'a queer story' and now I repeat the words--Yes, it is a very queer story, a very queer story indeed. I will for a moment suppose, Mr. Meidema, that you are an honest man."

The Assistant Resident gnashed his teeth and writhed with inward passion at the insinuation; but he uttered not a sound. He had made up his mind, outwardly at least, to retain his composure, and to listen in silence.

Without appearing to notice Meidema's evident anguish, the Resident continued:

"I am ready to admit, for argument's sake, that you are an honest man; but I think you yourself must allow that appearances are terribly against you. Just put yourself in the position of a Resident; put yourself in my place. I am bound by my office to inquire into these matters calmly and impartially, without fear or prejudice, and, I must add without sympathy either; and then just see on what side probabilities have been accumulating. It is known to everyone, that you are in serious money difficulties--that is an open secret--and, I must tell you, that in your public capacity as chief magistrate, that common report is most injurious to you. When a man is in grave pecuniary difficulties, it is almost impossible to make the public believe that he can be impartial, inaccessible to bribes and strictly honest. The temptations, you see, are too great. On the one side there are tempting offers, which always manage to find a way for themselves, on the other there are the claims of his family, claims which have a powerful voice, and which clamour to be heard. Public opinion, therefore, needs must be against you. Under these painful circumstances, the opium farmer comes to your house and offers presents, in the form of silk dresses, to your wife and daughters, and he offers further a considerable bribe in the tangible shape of money. Now, do you think that you can make anyone believe that all this could occur without there having been some previous relations between you, some quiet understanding to encourage such bare-faced proposals? Surely not! You have told me with your own lips that the opium farmer came to invoke the aid of your wife. Therefore, he must have had some good cause to believe that not only could her aid be purchased; but also that her intercession, when obtained, would be of some value to him. Now, if you are compelled to grant me all this--why, then I say that you can hardly wonder if I come to the conclusion that she was not to-day solicited for the first time. At all events, you must allow that an impartial judge might very easily come to that conclusion. Now this is not all, there is yet another point to be considered. You have yourself confessed that, at least for a time, you yourself believed Mrs. Meidema guilty. Your description of the scene--the deplorable scene--which has just now taken place at your house, amply proves that. And, let me say in passing that I most strongly disapprove of such want of temper and of such want of self-control in my subordinates; but that in the particular case which I have now before me, I am willing to excuse it. However, as I was saying, the scene of which you gave me so graphic a description, amply proves that you yourself did not consider Mrs. Meidema above suspicion."

Poor Meidema! He sat there before the pitiless inquisitor, pale as death, motionless as a statue. His bloodshot eyes gazed stonily at the Resident who, with a kind of refinement of cruelty, seemed to delight in probing his wound to the quick. At that moment the wretched man sat there accusing himself more bitterly than van Gulpendam or any one else on earth could have done. The voice of conscience is, to the upright man, the most terrible voice of all. Yes--it was but too true, he had been guilty of suspecting the wife of his bosom, he had thought evil of his two innocent daughters. The Resident was pitiless; but he was quite right. And then, alas! that was not the worst of it; his conscience had a still louder reproach to make. He had been so miserably weak that he had not been able to keep that foul suspicion to himself--he had not been man enough to keep it locked up in his own bosom. Honest and loyal as he was himself, he had fancied that the truth--the whole truth--would have proved the strongest bulwark for innocence. Thus, in a moment of blind honesty, he had, for no other purpose than to bring out more strongly the innocence of his family, betrayed to his enemy the excess of violence into which his wild frenzy had led him. And now, the weapon to which he had fondly trusted for his defence, had turned in his hand; not against himself only, but also against those dear ones of whose perfect purity he had no longer the faintest shadow of a doubt. The thought was too terrible to bear, it was maddening--his eyes began to ache as though a red-hot iron were pressed upon them. But, unmindful of his sufferings, his pitiless tormentor quietly continued:

"From all this must we not then reasonably conclude, Mr. Meidema, that your wife, terrified--and very naturally terrified--at your unreasoning violence, must have confined herself to a simple denial after she had attempted to mislead you in the matter of the ten thousand guilders? You see," continued the Resident with a friendly smile, "after all, the best thing is, that we should give that aspect to a most lamentable occurrence; one cannot very well hold you responsible for the actions of your wife."

At these words Meidema could restrain himself no longer. "No!" shouted he, "that suspicion shall not be cast upon her--my wife is innocent!"

"Mr. Meidema," said van Gulpendam, in tones of mock sympathy, "let me implore you to take my advice, and to consider well what you are about. Once you let go that anchor, I have no other alternative than--"

He paused, even he seemed to hesitate, even he recoiled from what he was about to say.

"No other alternative than--what?" asked Meidema, with something of the listlessness of despair.

"Than to consider you the guilty man and to hold that your family are in conspiracy with you."

"Resident!"

"Be calm, pray be calm! Remember it is not I who choose the alternative--you yourself force it upon me. Once again, let me remind you of your financial difficulties; let me remind you of the animosity which, in your report, you plainly show to Lim Ho. In that paper you eagerly seize upon every little circumstance which can possibly be adduced to prove him guilty; and you as carefully avoid everything which might point to Ardjan as the culprit. In fact you screen the Javanese in every way you possibly can. Taking all these things into consideration, the words spoken just now by the opium-farmer must needs give us food for reflection. You remember what he said, do you not? His words were blunt and cruel, I admit; but he seems to have had justice on his side. 'He wants,' said the Chinaman, 'to keep for himself the greater part of the present which I offered to the njonja, and he intends in addition to secure the fine which Lim Ho will have to pay if he be found guilty.' A fine which we know could not be screwed out of Ardjan. And when, in connection with those words we come to examine the 23rd clause of the Opium Act, why, then I do not think that many words will be needed to convince you that you must not venture to reckon upon either my sympathy or my support."

Meidema, poor wretched man, was utterly crushed and annihilated. Without uttering a sound, he sat vacantly staring at his chief.

"No, no," continued van Gulpendam, "I can see no alternative. Either you are guilty or your wife is guilty, perhaps both are equally culpable. You have, however, still time to make a choice; it is not yet too late, but that choice must be made quickly, now, at once; for I have made up my mind to telegraph to headquarters this very day."

To telegraph! Poor Meidema only heard the one dreadful word "telegraph." He knew well what that word implied; he knew well in what an arbitrary and off-hand way the fate of subordinates is decided at Batavia. Already he saw himself dismissed and disgraced, shunned as a social leper by every respectable man; his wife and children wandering about in poverty, exposed to hunger and untold misery. Just then, as if he had been able to read the unhappy man's thoughts, the Resident said: "Come, Mr. Meidema, decide, make up your mind, there must be no delay."

"What must I do, Resident?" moaned the poor man, now fairly at his wits' end.

"What must you do? It is clear enough what you have to do. There is your report; it has just been handed to me along with the other papers relating to the business of the Court at which on Tuesday next I intend to preside. Take it; here it is; do with it what you will."

He thrust the document into Meidema's hand--who took it, gazed at it for a moment with meaningless stare, then made some gesture with his hands as though he would tear it up; but--before he could accomplish the fatal deed, his brain seemed to whirl and he fell heavily to the ground.

A doctor was sent for at once. When he made his appearance, he found Meidema lying back in a chair surrounded by the entire household of the Residence, but utterly unconscious; and all around the floor was strewed with fragments of paper.

The physician spoke of brain fever, and he ordered the patient to be removed to the hospital.

"There is no danger, I hope, doctor?" asked the Resident, in tones of the deepest sympathy.

"My dear sir," replied the medical man, "there is the very gravest danger. It is a very sad case, it will surprise me much if the man does not go mad--that is if he gets over this attack at all."

The Resident thereupon at once drove off to break the fatal news as gently as possible to Mrs. Meidema.

The evening papers contained the following paragraph:

"We are grieved to state that Assistant Resident of Police, W. D. Meidema, was this morning suddenly taken seriously ill. It seemed at first as if he were suffering from some acute form of brain fever; but after careful examination, our zealous and able medical officer has come to the conclusion that it is a case of 'melancholia attonita.' It is his opinion that no relief can be hoped for unless the patient be at once removed to Europe. There he will probably have to pass a considerable time in some asylum in which he can have the care which his peculiar malady requires. If we are rightly informed, our Resident at once telegraphed to Batavia; so that it is probable there will be no delay in obtaining the necessary leave of absence. Mr. van Gulpendam has further exerted himself to the utmost in obtaining a passage to Europe for the sorrow-stricken family in the Noah III. which is to sail for Patria on the day after to-morrow. Mrs. van Gulpendam also is untiring in her attention, and entirely devotes herself to assist the afflicted family by word and deed. Both the Resident and his wife have once again shown how cordial is their sympathy with their subordinates, and how thoroughly they have their welfare at heart. Our best wishes accompany Mrs. Meidema and her children, and we heartily pray that the Assistant Resident may speedily be restored to health."

The correspondent had been well informed. This much is certain, that on the 14th of July the ship Noah III. left her anchorage, and under the influence of the Eastern monsoon, left the harbour of Santjoemeh and was quickly out of sight.

Van Gulpendam had, in the overflowing kindness of his heart, accompanied his friends to the ship's side. He had warmly pressed Mrs. Meidema's hand and uttered the kindliest sentiments at parting. Then, when the ship was but a speck on the horizon, he uttered a deep sigh of relief, and with a pleasant smile, he muttered to himself: "Come, I have managed that pretty neatly."

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Chapter XXVII

SUMMUM JUS SUMMA INJURIA. FATHER AND SON CONDEMNED. MURDER OF SINGOMENGOLO.

A couple of days later, Mr. Zuidhoorn left Santjoemeh. He started for Batavia in one of the Dutch Indian Navigation Company's ships, intending to take a passage to Singapore in the Emirne. From Singapore he was to go to Marseilles in the Irrawady of the Messageries Maritimes. He was, as we have seen, a thoroughly honest man; and he had fully made up his mind to let the authorities at Batavia know all that had occurred at the last session in Santjoemeh. He intended to act in this matter as prudently as possible; but yet was resolved that the officials at the head-quarters should be fully informed of the shameful intrigues that were carried on in the interior. But--between the forming of a good resolution and the carrying out of it, there is a vast difference, as Mr. Zuidhoorn was soon to discover.

He had but three days to stay in Batavia, and he found that he could not, in these three days, obtain an interview with the Governor General. Mr. Zuidhoorn had taken the trouble to go all the way to Buitenzorg; but it was only to find that, on the very day of his arrival, his Excellency had, in the early morning, started for Tjipannas. The only thing, therefore, that he could do was to wait till the morrow, and then take a carriage and drive to that place. Mr. Zuidhoorn took the precaution of telegraphing to the adjutant on duty, and as he received no answer to his telegram, he started the next morning for Tjipannas. He was doomed to be once again disappointed; for when he arrived, he was told that, unfortunately, His Excellency the Governor was confined to his room by a severe attack of fever, and that no one could be admitted to his presence. The aide-de-camp made this announcement with a profusion of excuses, and tried to explain that he had not been able to send a reply to the telegram because His Excellency had not been taken ill until late in the night.

There was no help for it, and Mr. Zuidhoorn had to hurry back, as best he could, to Batavia; cursing his unlucky star. But in these fruitless efforts to gain the Governor's ears, two precious days had been wasted, and he had but one left.

On the following morning Mr. Zuidhoorn called upon the Chief Justice. This gentleman received him with a cordiality which was somewhat too boisterous to be real.

"Here you are at length, my dear Zuidhoorn!" cried he, as, with much outward show of friendship, he grasped his hand. "Indeed, I am delighted to see you! I have been alarming myself so dreadfully about the state of your health, that it is a positive relief to see you as well as you are. I thought your indisposition was much more serious. I am glad to find you are not so very bad after all; but it is getting high time for you to go away for a bit and get a little rest."

Mr. Zuidhoorn did not know what to make of all this. "You thought me very ill?" he asked in surprise. "What do you mean? I don't remember, in any of my letters, that I represented my state of health as worse than it really is. And then 'high time to get away?' I assure you I do not understand what you mean. I was not at all anxious to leave."

"I suppose not," rejoined the Chief Justice, "I suppose not; but I know you are beginning to feel the effect of the climate."

"Of the climate?" repeated Zuidhoorn still more puzzled.

"Yes! yes! you see, when we Europeans are forced to live in the tropics for any considerable time, then, in some cases, nervous debility begins to set in, frequently accompanied by weakening or softening of the brain--"

"My dear sir," cried Zuidhoorn, "your hints--"

"Are not in the least applicable to you! My dear Zuidhoorn, I know that as well as you do; but pray let me finish what I was going to say. Some men, I observed, begin to suffer from debility and impaired brain-power--others grow nervous, excitable, irritable--"

"Chief Justice!" cried Zuidhoorn, "is that the case with me?"

"As a rule," continued the other without noticing the interruption, "as a rule the patient is, in such cases, wholly unconscious of his condition; and is under the impression that he continues to speak and act precisely as he was always wont to do."

"Is such the case with me?" again asked Zuidhoorn, repeating his question.

"Well, yes, my dear colleague, I am sorry to say that, to a certain extent, it is. You yourself are not aware of it, of course: but yet to your friends the style in which you write has, of late, betrayed a degree of irritability which you, as an excellent juris peritus, know is scarcely desirable in a high legal functionary."

"But my dear sir!" exclaimed Zuidhoorn, "I am not at all aware--"

"Quantum est quod nescimus!" interrupted the other.

"Well," continued Zuidhoorn, "it is a very curious thing that no one has ever dropped the slightest hint to me of any such infirmity."

"True enough, my dear colleague; but nevertheless it has been noticed for some little time. At first I looked upon it merely as a result of the extreme interest which we know you take in the discharge of your duties. But it soon became evident to your friends that it was a symptom of failing health: and, as you know perfectly well, in our profession especially, it is of the utmost importance that there should be meus sana in corpore sano."

Mr. Zuidhoorn was utterly amazed, as well as fairly disgusted. Was that then the impression which his long and conscientious services had made upon his superiors at head-quarters? Was that the reward for the many years of anxious work which he had bestowed upon his office?

"But, my dear sir," said he, "you will, I suppose, not object to give me a single instance in which that supposed infirmity of mine has manifested itself to you?"

"A single instance! my worthy friend, why! I will give you ten, twenty if you like!"

"I ask you but for one," was Zuidhoorn's reply.

"Very well then," said the Chief Justice, "look at that recent business of the Santjoemeh sessions."

"Which sessions?" asked Zuidhoorn.

"Ah, you see! you have a kind of inner consciousness that there are several occasions on which--"

"That is the merest quibble!" cried Zuidhoorn, somewhat testily, "the merest quibble! I have attended at, and presided over, so many sessions, that my question is, surely, a very natural one."

"Well, I will tell you," replied the other, "I am alluding to the affair with Resident van Gulpendam."

"Who would persist in presiding over the trials, which he had no right whatever to do."

"Come, come, my dear friend," said the Chief Justice, "you must be losing sight of clause 92 of our Judicial regulations. But, I ascribe that want of memory to your mental condition."

"Pardon me," interrupted Mr. Zuidhoorn warmly, "the condition of my mind has nothing whatever to do with it. You said clause 92?"

"Precisely so," replied the Chief Justice, "that clause confers upon the Resident the power of presiding at any session which may be held within his district, should he think it right and proper so to do."

"I know that," answered Zuidhoorn, "but pray remember, that when that 92nd clause was in force, there was as yet no thought of appointing specially qualified lawyers to the presidential office. At that time such a regulation may have been useful and even necessary; but, as matters stand now, it would be an utter absurdity for any Resident who is a layman, to put aside the specially appointed president in order to thrust himself upon a court of justice in the capacity of chairman. Methinks that--"

"Mr. Zuidhoorn, allow me to say, that we judges ought to be the very first to show strict respect to the written law. Certain rules and regulations may appear useless or even mischievous; but so long as they remain in force, we are bound to abide by them. And--pardon me the question--have you in this particular case acted up to that principle?"

"It seems to me then," said Zuidhoorn, "that you do not approve of my line of conduct?"

"Not only do I disapprove of it," replied the Chief Justice, "but the Governor General also is extremely annoyed at the attitude you have chosen to assume in this case. In his opinion the line of conduct you have thought it right to adopt has seriously impaired the prestige which ought to belong to your position."

"Oh, indeed! is that his Excellency's opinion?" asked Mr. Zuidhoorn musingly. "Now I begin to see why I have not been admitted to an audience."

"Have you tried to obtain one?"

"Yes, I have," was the reply. "The day before yesterday I went to Buitenzorg--yesterday I went on to Tjipannas--"

"And--?"

"I was told by the aide-de-camp on duty that his Excellency was ill in bed and could see no one."

"You see!" exclaimed the Chief Justice. "What did I tell you?"

"But, my dear sir," interposed Zuidhoorn, "the most scandalous proceedings are going on. For the sake of shielding a wealthy opium farmer, a poor devil of a Javanese--!"

"Has been falsely accused--and will in all probability, be found guilty in spite of his innocence," remarked the Chief Justice with a cynical smile. "Oh, yes, we know all about it, you have put the whole question most clearly and most circumstantially before us. But what are we to do? We are powerless, and must bend our heads to the storm. You know summum jus, summa injuria."

Mr. Zuidhoorn was leaning his head on his hand as his colleague spoke thus; and was vacantly, almost hopelessly, staring before him.

"Let me give you a friendly piece of advice, my dear colleague," resumed the Chief Justice kindly; "the fact is you are not at all well--you are more seriously indisposed than you yourself are aware of. To-morrow you mean to sail in the Emirne, eh? Very well, my advice to you is to leave all these worries and bothers behind you in Batavia; fling off all these anxieties, and go to Europe to recruit your failing strength. In a couple of years' time you will return with fresh vigour--a new man, in fact, in mind and body--and then you will for many years to come continue to be an ornament to a profession in which, allow me to tell you, very few can compete with you. And now you must excuse me. My time is very precious and-- Oh, yes, one other recommendation let me give you before taking leave. For the future, pray take the greatest care never to meddle in any way, if you can possibly help it, with any of the complications and intrigues of the opium trade. I need hardly tell you that it is an imperium in imperio and, to this I may add, malum malo proximum; in all such matters, he who touches pitch must be defiled. And now--I can only wish you a quick and pleasant voyage and a happy time in the old country. Good-bye, my dear Zuidhoorn, good-bye. A pleasant journey to you!"

The two cases of opium smuggling, the one at the Moeara Tjatjing and the other arising out of the discovery in the hut of Pak Ardjan at Kaligaweh, did not come on at once before the court at Santjoemeh. Resident van Gulpendam was delighted when he heard from the Chief Justice at Batavia, that, owing to the scarcity of legal men at head quarters, there was no chance whatever of filling up, for some time to come, the vacancy caused by Mr. Zuidhoorn's departure.

The sittings of the court at which the Resident now had to preside, were held, as usual, regularly once a week; but Mr. van Gulpendam found no difficulty, on one pretext or another, in putting off the hearing of the opium cases from week to week.

At length, however, the chief djaksa had informed him that the two Chinamen, Than Khan and Liem King, who had been on watch in the djaga monjet, could nowhere be found. Presently it was found that Awal Boep Said, the captain of the schooner brig, Kiem Ping Hin, on whose testimony Ardjan chiefly relied, had also disappeared without leaving a trace behind him. Then van Gulpendam thought that the proper time had come to bring up the prisoners for trial.

Ardjan had to confess that on the February night in question, he had come ashore in very stormy weather; that the boat of the Matamata had chased him and had fired upon him; but he was quite unable to prove that the opium discovered, not far from the spot where his surf-boat was driven ashore, had not been landed by him. Thus all the evidence was against him. Then he called upon Dalima to prove that she was seated with him in the boat. The president, however, assured the court that the girl had not, on that night, left the grounds of the Residence, and that her testimony, therefore, must be a mere tissue of falsehood and of no value whatever--that it could not in any case invalidate the evidence already produced. The Resident further drew the court's attention to the fact that Dalima herself was about to be put on trial for a precisely similar offence--a fact which could not but affect the weight of her testimony. The court thus came to the conclusion that it was perfectly useless to call so tainted a witness. Moreover the chief djaksa deposed that Pak Ardjan, the prisoner's father, had confessed that the smuggled opium which Singomengolo had found in his cabin, had been supplied to him by his son. Thus the guilt of the prisoner was clearly established and Ardjan was, accordingly, found guilty of an attempt at smuggling one and a half pikols of pure opium which was equivalent to about three pikols of raw material. This brought the case under the 23rd clause of the Act, and the court condemned him to three years' penal servitude, and further to pay a fine of three thousand guilders. In default of payment, he was to have three months' compulsory labour on the public works for every hundred guilders. Ardjan was, therefore, doomed to what virtually came to eight years' penal servitude. The poor victim of this gross miscarriage of justice gnashed his teeth with impotent rage when he heard the sentence. Could he have expected more lenient treatment at the hands of the white men? Perhaps he had, poor fellow!

After the son, the father--after Ardjan, Pak Ardjan.

His case was treated in a still more off-hand manner if possible, than his son's.

The prisoner had confessed that he had smuggled opium in his possession. Entrapped by artful cross-examination; and without having the slightest suspicion how heavily his testimony would weigh against his son Ardjan, he had admitted that the latter used, from time to time, to supply him with the drug. He had further been forced to confess that he had wrenched a sword from one of the oppassers and, in consequence of the fellow's grossly indecent conduct towards his little daughter, had dealt the wretch a couple of slashing blows with his own weapon. But hardly any notice whatever was taken of these extenuating circumstances--they were, in fact, not inquired into at all. The wretched father was there and then found guilty of having illegally in his possession two katties of opium. As this was his first offence, he could only be sentenced to forfeit the captured wares and to undergo three months' hard labour. But on the other charge, that namely, of having offered resistance to the police and of having wounded one of the officers in the execution of his duty, he was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude.

Thus father and son were both satisfactorily disposed of. The latter, though perfectly innocent, was sent to penal servitude for eight years. The former, for a very simple offence, for which only a trifling penalty could be inflicted, had not the infamous conduct of the searchers driven him to resistance, was sent to penal servitude for ten years. The Chief Justice at Batavia fixed upon Atjeh as the place where the culprits should serve their time; but--before the order could arrive at Santjoemeh--both Ardjan and his father had managed to make their escape.

It was an awful night, dark as pitch, while a terrible thunderstorm had burst over Santjoemeh. The young native soldier who was on sentry-duty inside the outer wall of the prison, had been driven to seek for shelter within his sentry-box, terrified by the flashes of lightning, the deafening claps of thunder, and the torrents of rain; when, suddenly, he felt an iron grip upon his throat. Before he had time to utter a sound, a blow from a heavy piece of wood stretched him senseless on the ground. Meanwhile the thunder kept on rattling and the rain came splashing down with redoubled fury--such rain as is only seen in the tropics. Of these circumstances, so favourable to their flight, the fugitives made the best use. Nimble and strong, as a good sailor must be, Ardjan was able to help his father to gain the top of the wall, then he soon managed to clamber up himself. Once firmly seated, he lowered the old man to the ground on the other side, and, in a twinkling, he was at his side. Not one of the sentries on duty outside the wall was to be seen, they also, in such dreadful weather, had got under cover. The rain still poured down in torrents, and the water was coursing over the plain beyond and dashing down the streets as if all the rivers in the country had broken their bounds. Outside the prison wall all was darkness. One solitary oil-lamp was flickering in a lantern; but it only shed a sickly and feeble light in its immediate neighbourhood, while its wretched little glimmers served but to make more palpable the darkness beyond. Just at the moment when the fugitives had safely reached the foot of the wall, there came a blinding flash of lightning, cleaving its zig-zag way through the clouds. The flash was followed immediately by a stunning clap of thunder with that peculiar crackling sound which tells that the lightning has struck something close by, and then another noise was heard--it was that of a mighty cocoa nut palm which split from top to bottom, came crashing to the ground.

The two Javanese then left the shelter of the wall where they knew that the rounds might at any moment discover them; and, taking advantage of the dense darkness which followed upon the dazzling flash, they darted across the small plain in which the prison stood, and, in a few moments, had reached the edge of the dessa.

Once there, they were perfectly safe, for not one of the inhabitants of the dessa would have thought of betraying the victims of the detested opium tyranny to the vengeance of the white man.

When Resident van Gulpendam was informed of this escape, he was simply furious.

One of the sentries stated that, after the fall of the palm-tree, he had heard a sound as of something splashing in the water; but the darkness made it impossible for him to distinguish what it was, and he thought it must be some dog who was trying to get away from so dangerous a neighbourhood. The Resident at once ordered the man to be tried by court-martial, and had him punished with fourteen days' close imprisonment.

The most careful search was made to discover the fugitives. All the detectives, all the spies, all the creatures of the opium police, were turned out, and used their utmost skill; but all to no purpose. For months the entire district of Banjoe Pahit, especially the dessa Kaligaweh, was carefully watched; the wife and children of Pak Ardjan were not lost sight of for a moment; but without result. At length the police were driven to the conclusion that the criminals could not have returned to Kaligaweh and that they must, in fact, have left the residence of Santjoemeh altogether. Presently men ceased to talk about the matter, and soon the whole business was clean forgotten; when--a couple of months later--an event took place which, while it recalled the occurrence to men's minds, gave them at the same time ample food for reflection.

On a certain evening Singomengolo had come to Lim Yang Bing and had told him that he thought he had found a trace of the fugitives; but, as he feared some of the information he had gained might leak out, he refused to give any further explanation. He requested, however, that he might, for that evening, have the assistance of two of Lim Yang Bing's men; and he picked out two Chinese bandoelans to accompany him on his voyage of discovery. The opium farmer tried all he knew to get at Singomengolo's secret. He questioned and cross-questioned him; but he could get nothing out of him. The bandoelan persisted in saying that he could hope for success only by keeping strictly secret the clue he had obtained. He further said that he was not at all certain that the information he had gained was genuine; and that he might very possibly be on a wrong scent altogether. The only thing he allowed to slip out was that the field of his operations lay not far from Kaligaweh. As soon as he had obtained the help he required, Singomengolo started off with his two police-spies; but he did not return. When on the following morning, the opium farmer heard that his trusty servant had not yet come home, he began to grow anxious. He was so used to see his bandoelan at a stated hour in the morning, to receive from him a report of all that had occurred during the twenty-four hours, and to give him his further orders, that the man's want of punctuality on this occasion gave him no little alarm. On that morning especially, he had been impatiently awaiting Singo's usual visit, as he was extremely curious to know what success had followed the night's expedition. He waited and waited with still growing impatience until noon. Then, the suspense becoming intolerable, he called for his carriage, and drove straight off to the Residence.

"What is the matter now, babah?" cried van Gulpendam, greatly surprised at the manner of his visitor, who seemed to have lost all the calmness and composure which are so very characteristic of his nation.

"Kandjeng toean," hurriedly said Lim Yang Bing, "I come to invoke your aid!"

Thereupon he told the Resident what little he knew of Singomengolo's expedition, and could not hide the anxiety which the bandoelan's prolonged absence caused him.

For a few moments the Resident sat reflecting on what he had heard. He had received, from one of the landowners at Banjoe Pahit, secret information which was of a very disquieting nature. A hint had been conveyed to him from that source, that very probably Banjoe Pahit would be threatened by a visit from certain bands of robbers. The hint was, however, so very vague and had apparently so little to support it, that he had not paid much attention to it. The new controller, whom he had appointed in the place of Verstork, and to whom he had imparted the information he had received, assured him that the district was profoundly quiet, that the population was as orderly and contented as it could possibly be; and that not a single alarming symptom could be discovered. True it was that the land-tax came in somewhat slowly; but, on the other hand, other sources of revenue were decidedly improving, and, judging from the flourishing state of the opium den at Kaligaweh, the bidding at the approaching sale of the monopoly would run unusually high. This report was eminently satisfactory to the Resident, and though he knew perfectly well that the foundation upon which the controller had built his pleasant expectations, was an extremely crazy one; for in such matters it was not an easy thing to deceive the keenly practised eye of van Gulpendam, yet he was quite ready to accept it as sufficient, because he reckoned upon the report as a convenient screen under which to hide himself should matters turn out not quite so satisfactory as his subordinate would make them appear. He had, therefore, written to the landowner a most polite letter in which he thanked him for his information; but in which he at the same time told him that he had reason to think his fears were unfounded, adding that for the future, it might perhaps be advisable not to spread such alarming reports. Strange that, as Lim Yang Bing was telling his tale, these vague rumours of possible disturbance had come up spontaneously to the mind of the Resident, yet so it was. Very probably van Gulpendam could not have explained the fact to himself.

Why should the rather late return of Singomengolo--for, as yet, there was no ground for giving his absence any other name--why should that have any connection with those faint rumours of robber bands which had not shown the slightest symptom of having any substantial foundation? No, no, that was out of the question. Van Gulpendam accordingly tried to calm the Chinaman's fears.

"But, babah," said he, "surely you have no reason for all this uneasiness. It must, I should think, be no uncommon occurrence for a bandoelan to be delayed for some time on a secret mission--"

"No, kandjeng toean," was the reply, "not Singomengolo. He always takes his measures so carefully and lays down his plans so accurately, that he never fails to be with me at the appointed time."

"Well, babah," asked the Resident, "in what manner can I assist you?"

"All I want," replied Lim Yang Bing, "is for you to give me a few oppassers and your written authority to call upon the dessa people to lend the police any assistance they may require."

"But," persisted van Gulpendam, "what do you want the oppassers and the dessa people to do?"

"I wish," said the Chinaman, "thoroughly to search Kaligaweh. I don't know how to explain it, kandjeng toean; but I have a kind of presentiment that Singomengolo has fallen into some trap and has met with foul play."

"Very good," said van Gulpendam, "so be it, I have no objection."

A few hours later, a numerous band of men was searching Kaligaweh in every direction; but no discovery was made that could throw any light upon the matter. The dessa people were preparing to go home, and the policemen were getting ready to return to Santjoemeh, when a fisherman came up and told them that at Kali Tjatjing he had seen something which looked like three dead bodies. Thereupon the search was at once resumed, and, under the fisherman's guidance, the police proceeded to the spot he had mentioned. At length under a thickly tangled clump of mangrove, quite close to the river bank, they found the bodies of Singomengolo and of one of his Chinese followers. Both bodies were covered with wounds; and so fearfully hacked about with the kris, that death must have been almost instantaneous. The third Chinaman still showed some signs of life when they found him. He had a dreadful gash in the throat; but if it had been attended to at once he might possibly have survived. Loss of blood, however, had now made his recovery hopeless. When the party of searchers reached him he opened his eyes feebly, and muttered some disconnected words. He tried to say something about men with blackened faces, and some of those present thought they could distinguish the name of Ardjan, then, uttering a deep sigh, the man expired.

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XXVIII. CORRESPONDENCE

The departure of Verstork for Atjeh, seemed to have drawn more closely together the little band of friends which, after the boar-hunt in the Djoerang Pringapoes, we saw so cosily seated around the hospitable board at Banjoe Pahit. The loss of one of their number had strengthened rather than weakened their mutual feelings of friendship. We said the loss of one of their friends; but in this case that is hardly the correct word to use; for, though William Verstork was far away, yet he continued to dwell in the memory of them all, and he was perpetually the subject of their conversation. It was, however, not only that affectionate remembrance which held the friends so closely united. Letters were continually passing between them, and Verstork was kept well informed by his friends at Santjoemeh of all that concerned themselves privately, and also of the events which form the subject of our story, and in which they all played a more or less prominent part. Edward van Rheijn had, under the influence of van Gulpendam, for a time grown somewhat cool towards his friends; but when he began to gain a deeper insight into the real character of the Resident, and began to see with what cynical selfishness he turned everything to his own advantage, his feelings towards his friends became as warm as ever they had been before. He wrote a long letter to Verstork about his successor at Banjoe Pahit, in which he showed him how mischievous and destructive was that man's influence in the formerly thriving district. Everything, he said, was rapidly going to ruin, the rice-culture was being woefully neglected, and the second crops shared the same fate. Breach of contract was now an almost daily occurrence, inasmuch as the once so orderly and industrious population, was fast getting lazy, listless, in fact utterly unfit for any regular work whatever. In one word, the entire district was visibly deteriorating, and could look forward to nothing but a future of crime and misery. On the other hand, the opium den, the gambling hells and the pawn shop, were in a most flourishing condition, and produced large incomes to the farmers of those sources of revenue to the Dutch treasury. In order to satisfy the inordinate passion for gambling and for opium, smuggling was rapidly on the increase, and theft was of daily occurrence; nay, there were even ugly whispers of robber bands, which were said to have been organised, and to have already begun their criminal operations.

Van Rheijn concluded his letter with these words: "The bandoelan Singomengolo--You remember the scoundrel who was present at the dreadful Amokh scene at Kaligaweh, and who afterwards arrested baboe Dalima--has been found murdered close to Moeara Tjatjing, and two of his Chinese followers have shared his fate. I have every reason to believe that this crime had nothing to do with robbers; my opinion is that it was a pure case of revenge; for on the bandoelan's body there was found the sum of sixty-eight guilders, and this plainly enough shows that robbery could not have been the motive of the murder. There is another very remarkable circumstance in this case, and it is this: Besides the money, I told you of--there were found on him five small copper boxes, which are precisely like the two little boxes you took possession of at Kaligaweh, and in the Djoerang Pringapoes. Indeed, I must tell you that I am now beginning to see what a fearful curse the opium trade is to the country. I make that confession the more freely to you, as you recollect, no doubt, that some little time ago I had not made up my mind on the question. Such, in the few months of your absence, has become the condition of Banjoe Pahit; and--to fill up the cup of misery--a rumour is now current that the land-tax is to be raised, and that the other already existing taxes are to be exacted with much greater severity; while, at the same time, fresh burdens will be heaped upon the shoulders of the natives. In one word, money grabbing in every possible shape and form, in the form of compulsory labour, in the form of duty on salt, in the form of import and export duties, in the form of opium dens, of gambling booths, in the shape of pawn shops,--everywhere extortion, the most wrung out of the poor wretched Javanese. William! William! where must all this end? I can foresee nothing but calamity--there must come a crash. It may come sooner or, it may be, later; but come it must. For the condition of Banjoe Pahit is by no means exceptional. It may much rather be looked upon as typical of the state of the entire island of Java."

August van Beneden wrote to his friend to tell him all that had occurred with regard to the impending trials of the Javanese Setrosmito, and of his daughter baboe Dalima. He wrote as follows:

"Just fancy, William! The Government have thrown all kinds of obstacles in the way of my appearing as defending counsel in these two cases. You will hardly guess what reasons are given for this opposition. The objection is, that perhaps I might have to be called as a witness in both cases. It was a rather clever dodge; but, as you may suppose, I stuck to my point. The whole question has been submitted to the Judge Commissary of the court of Santjoemeh; and, when I had declared that I had witnessed nothing, and that therefore my testimony could not be called for, after I had formally stated that I had no pecuniary interest whatever in the matter, and had consented unconditionally to abide by his decision, the Judge withdrew his opposition, and permitted me to plead in both cases. But he further said that, should I be unexpectedly called as a witness, he could not allow me to be sworn.--And now, William, pray attend to the reason which he gave for that decision. He could not allow me to be sworn because, although I am undertaking this defence gratuitously and do not expect to receive any fee; yet, as defending counsel, I must be looked upon as having an indirect interest in the acquittal of my clients, and am not, therefore, in the eyes of the law, a perfectly independent and unbiassed witness! Now what do you think of that? I freely admit speaking as a man and as a lawyer that the decision is correct, quite correct; but, what if that principle were to be applied to all witnesses that appear in court? Would not the testimony of all the bandoelans, the opium-hunters, the opium-den keepers, 'et hoc genus omne,' much rather lie open to suspicion? It is an admitted fact that all these men speak under the direct dictation of the opium farmer, and that, moreover, owing to the rewards which the law allows them, they have a most direct and material interest in procuring convictions. Oh, William! our entire legal system--and especially our treatment of the natives in opium cases--is most lamentably deficient.

"The charges against Setrosmito and baboe Dalima will be brought before the native court, and it is but very seldom that counsel are heard there. It is my intention, therefore, to appear as counsel only in the case of Setrosmito. With regard to Dalima, should she be found guilty, she will have an appeal to the Superior Court at Santjoemeh, and then I shall have to conduct her defence with as much vigour as possible. You may ask perhaps why make that distinction between the two cases? Listen to me, and bear in mind that I am acting under van Nerekool's advice.

"You have probably heard that Singomengolo, who in both trials was to have been the principal witness, has been mysteriously murdered. At first I thought that his removal was all in favour of my clients; but I have since ascertained that the chief bandoelan has left behind him a sworn deposition of all the facts, and that it will be received as evidence by the court. Thus his death is a positive and serious injury to our cause, inasmuch as we cannot now confront him with Lim Ho, and with the defendants. I fully expected to have been able to lead them into a long and angry discussion, in the course of which, I have no doubt, that several facts would have come to light, which would have enabled me to prove that the father committed the crime of which he stands accused, under the most extenuating circumstances; and clearly to bring out the absolute innocence of the daughter, and the brutal violence to which she has been subjected. Now, however, we are in a very different position. At the preliminary inquiry before the Judge Commissary, Mrs. van Gulpendam has stated that she was quite unaware of Dalima's absence from the house on the night in question; and thus the girl now lies under very serious suspicion of having left the grounds of the Residence for an improper purpose. You remember, of course, that on the morning of our boar-hunt she appealed to the fact of her having received leave of absence both from the njonja and from nonna Anna. Whereupon you asked her whether these ladies would bear witness to that fact. You recollect also that she at once replied in the affirmative. But you will ask perhaps: 'How about Miss van Gulpendam?' Well, William, that is another very mysterious business! The common report is that the Resident's daughter has gone to Karang Anjer on a visit to the Steenvlaks. But, no sooner had the inquiry about Dalima begun, than the Resident said that his daughter had gone to Europe, and that she intended to stay for a while with an aunt of hers who lives in Switzerland. But the most curious circumstance is that in the lists of passengers of all the ships which have, within the last few months, sailed for Europe, the name of Miss Anna van Gulpendam can nowhere be found. You know how inquisitive are our gossips at Santjoemeh--Well, the public--that public which sees everything, hears everything, and pries into everything--has made every possible endeavour to find out what may have become of Miss van Gulpendam; but without the slightest success. The Resident has been pressed on the point by many an indiscreet busy-body, and he treats the whole thing in a very light and airy way. He has concocted some tale to the effect that his daughter, in company with two English ladies, left by a boat from Tjilatjap, that she started for Port Adelaide, and from thence intends to take the mail-boat to England. Not a soul, of course, believes a word of the yarn, which is all the more apocryphal from the fact that the father has never yet been induced to mention the name of the ship in which the young lady is said to have sailed. Some anxious souls amongst us have actually gone the length of telegraphing to Acraman, Main, and Co. of Adelaide, and the answer they received was:--'We know nothing of the arrival of three ladies from the Dutch Indies.'--Van Nerekool is frantic, that you may well suppose. A few days ago he was talking about going to Karang Anjer to inquire after his lady-love, for whom he has still the deepest and warmest affection. He has been there and has returned as wise as he was before. He will, I have no doubt, write to you and tell you, poor fellow, all about his adventures. I rather fancy, indeed, that he has done so already. The sum total of all this is, my dear William, that my clients' affairs are in a very bad state; but I do not despair. I shall do my very utmost to save the poor creatures. To spur me on to further exertions, I have the fact that poor Dalima is, as the saying is, in an interesting condition; so that the consequences of Lim Ho's detestable misdeed are already showing themselves. Will this circumstance be of any use to me at the trial? I doubt it much. We have no legal proof of the outrage and, therefore, I think it will be best for all concerned to hush the matter up as much as possible. All right-minded men, however, are moved with the deepest sympathy for the poor girl; and should she be discharged, or after she has left the prison, will be ready to protect her. She will need all the support she can get; for, after her father's condemnation, she will be homeless, and, disgraced as she is by van Gulpendam's assertions, she will not be able to get a place anywhere either as baboe or in any other capacity. However, time brings counsel!"

It was a letter from Grenits which brought Verstork news of the double escape of Ardjan and his father from the jail at Santjoemeh, and told him of the consternation which that event had spread in official circles. The young merchant wrote to his friend, and said:

"The Resident tries to appear perfectly indifferent to the escape of the prisoners, and whenever it is talked about treats the matter with much unconcern. But it has been remarked with what feverish anxiety the fugitives have been pursued. I can assure you that, when the regular police were at fault, the whole army of opium-spies was pressed into the service. But since Singomengolo and two of his Chinamen were found murdered--and murdered too without having been robbed--the very gravest anxiety has been felt; and a report was current that the guard at the Residence had been doubled. There is not a word of truth, however, in that rumour, and I can positively deny it. The two sentries, as usual, march up and down before the door of the high and mighty one; but the officer who commands that honourable corps of civilian soldiers has assured me that the cartridge box in the guardroom at the Residence has not even been unlocked. A good job too; for if those heroes should begin to fire ball-cartridge, loyal and peaceful citizens will be in considerably greater peril than the offenders. But, for all that, I am heartily glad that the fellows have got clear away. Their escape may not be legally justifiable; but a most grievous piece of injustice has thus been partially rectified. The father was driven to his reckless deed by the brutal conduct of the police towards his children, while the son had no hand whatever in the opium smuggling with which he was charged. You know that perfectly well, and the public knows it as well as you do. My own little affair with Mokesuep will now very shortly come before the high court of justice. The case is an extremely simple one. I have admitted that I did give the fellow two good slaps in the face, and my confession has been confirmed by the evidence of the man himself, and by that of Lim Ho and of Grashuis. Acting on van Beneden's advice, I have not pleaded any extenuating circumstances; because we do not wish to bring up poor little Dalima's name. The doctor has given a formal certificate to the effect that no outrage has been committed, and thus there is no possibility of legally proving the offence. And yet we are all of us morally convinced that a gross outrage was perpetrated, but--when shall we see justice dealt out fairly in India?"

It was, however, van Nerekool's letter which made the deepest impression on Verstork, though he had read the other communications with very great interest. The young judge told his friend all about Anna van Gulpendam's sudden disappearance and what had taken place since she left. He said:

"I have done all I could possibly do to meet her again; but to no purpose. Not only have her parents taken every precaution to make a meeting impossible; but Anna herself was determined not to see me again when I had at length persuaded Mrs. Meidema to let me know when I might expect to find Anna at her house. Now she is gone--and I received a letter from Sapoeran; but, my dear friend, it is a letter which robs me of all hope. She writes: 'My union with you is utterly impossible, you cannot, you must not think of making me your wife after the infamous proposals which have been made to you. You will say, perhaps, that a child is not guilty of the actions of her parents and cannot be held responsible for them. In that you are perfectly right, and I must tell you that my conscience is as clear; and that, if in my present forlorn condition I may be allowed so to speak, I, at this present moment hold up my head as high as before I knew anything of my mother's designs. But to be always face to face with the man to whom the odious propositions were made, to be ever conscious, even in our tenderest moments, of the fact that I was flung to the man I love as the price of dishonour, that is a prospect which is to me utterly unendurable. You are a gentleman, and as such, you would no doubt always have treated my parents with deference and with the proper show of respect; but to know that all this must be a mere empty show, put on in deference to a daughter's natural affections,--Oh Charles! that would have made life an intolerable burden to me, and must in the end, have destroyed your happiness also.' William, my dear friend, these lines sounded to me so full of despair, while at the same time they are so full of love, that they made me the happiest and, at the same time, the most wretched of men. I can fully enter into her feelings--I can understand her deep disgust at the actions of her parents; and it is for that very reason that I now, if possible, love her still more ardently than before. Her noble character stands clearly revealed in every word of her letter and commands my respect and admiration. I often ask myself how can such a child have sprung from such parents? It must be by a freak of nature that two such depraved creatures could have begotten so noble a child. How is it possible that amid such surroundings Anna has remained spotless and pure? To us who hold the cynical opinion that with our mother's milk we imbibe our mother's faults, it is an insoluble enigma. But, you see William, all this only serves to increase my affection for the lovely girl who happens to have crossed my path of life. What will be the end of it all? That is a question I often seriously put to myself; but I can find no answer to it. There are moments when I recoil from my very self; for I am beginning to discover within me certain feelings which I hardly dare to analyse. Are these feelings to be accounted for by the obstacles which my love to Anna has encountered? Would they ever have arisen in my breast if the course of my love, like that of so many of my fellow-men, had run smoothly along? I cannot tell; for the ideal which once I formed of married life is so strangely different from the storm which now rages within me, that I sometimes cannot repress a painful smile when I call to mind my visions of days gone by. Then woman was to me an ethereal being rather than a companion of flesh and blood who can herself feel the passion she inspires. You know, my dear friend, how little, hitherto, I have been accessible to what is called love. Well, now I am a different man. At times I feel as if a burning fire were consuming me. There are moments when painful yearnings arise within me for that pure and lovely being, for that proud maiden, whose very chastity and purity attract me with irresistible power. She flies from my love--and, oh William! I confess it to you though I confess it with shame--that there are moments in which I not only long to make her mine, but in which I madly swear that at any price she shall be mine. And then--alas that I should have to say so--in this storm of passion there is nothing tender, nothing sentimental; but it is simple passion which masters me, the mere selfish and senseless raging of the grossly material man, who is prepared to fling himself, by force if need be, upon the object which he has determined to obtain.

"After the receipt of that last letter I have repeatedly written to Anna. Again and again I have told her of my love. I have conjured her not to trample upon my affection. I have begged, I have entreated, I have prayed her not to refuse me her hand. Her parents would surely not persist in rejecting me; my worldly prospects might improve; indeed, I let her know that, as far as mere money was concerned, she need have no anxiety whatever; for that one of my mother's sisters had left me, not indeed any very considerable sum, but yet a competence. I told her that I must succeed in getting an appointment far away from the abode of her parents, and that, if life in India was really unbearable to her, we could cross the sea and go to Australia; that we might there marry and live quietly and forgotten by all, yet happy in our mutual affection. All this I wrote, and a great deal more; but, my dear friend, I received not a single word in reply. Regularly my letters have been returned to me and always unopened. Then I began to see that her determination was not to be shaken. With her own hand she enclosed my letters in an envelope and with her own hand firmly and boldly wrote the address. There could be no mistake about it; it was indeed her own handwriting. What was I to do? What could I do? I was in the most excited frame of mind; yet the huge mass of arrears with which the courts at Santjoemeh are overloaded would not allow me to ask for even a single day's leave of absence. I felt that I must get away--that I must fly to Karang Anjer; for I was persuaded that even yet I might induce Anna to look with less coldness upon my love. At length my last letter was returned to me unopened as all the others had been. As I held it in my hand a strange feeling of dread seemed to come over me for--the address was not in Anna's handwriting. Hastily I tore open the cover. Yes, there was my letter, unopened, and upon it were written these few hurried words: 'Anna van Gulpendam has left Karang Anjer!' You may perhaps be able, William, to understand my feelings as I read the words 'Anna has left Karang Anjer!' and not another syllable to give me a clue as to where my darling then was. Who could have written those few words--it was certainly not Anna's hand, that I could see at a glance. But who could it be? Was it a woman's hand at all? The writing was regular, the letters were fairly formed; but they told me nothing. One thing I felt quite distinctly, namely that, at any cost, I must get to Karang Anjer or else anxiety and suspense would kill me. The only question was, how to get away. You know that my superior officer in the High Court of Justice is a friend of van Gulpendam, and thus I knew I could not venture to ask him for leave of absence, I am glad I did not, for had I done so, I feel convinced that every one of my steps would have been watched. Happily, however, help came from an unexpected quarter. I became seriously indisposed. Congestion and feverish attacks made me wholly unfit for work, and though I was not forced to take to my bed, yet the doctor was so uneasy about the state of my health, that he insisted upon my starting at once for the hills; for, he declared, immediate change of climate was the only remedy for my complaint. You may imagine my feelings of joy when I heard this. I said, however, as quietly as I could, 'Well, doctor, is there any particular spot to which you advise me to go?'

"'I fancy,' he replied, 'Salatiga will be about the best place; it lies pretty high up, 1800 feet I think.'

"'Would not Wonosobo do just as well?' I asked, with assumed indifference.

"'Have you any preference for that place?' he asked.

"'Oh no,' I replied, 'not exactly a preference; but the Assistant Resident there is a friend of mine and I know several of the landowners in the neighbourhood. At Salatiga I shall be quite a stranger and must feel very lonely.'

"'Well then by all means,' said the doctor, 'go to Wonosobo. In fact it lies up higher still, quite 2200 feet, that will be still better for you.'

"The necessary certificate was soon signed, and in two days I was seated in a travelling carriage and was off on my way to the hills. Wonosobo, as you probably know, is 73 miles from Karang Anjer; but what were they in my eyes? Was it the hope which began to dawn within me, or had a reaction already set in? I cannot tell; but this much I know, that from the very commencement of my journey, I felt as if fresh life had been infused into me. In any other frame of mind the trip would have been highly interesting; for the country through which I passed was enchantingly lovely. I traversed the mountain district of Prahoe which is quite 8000 feet above the sea-level; then I went through the Dieng plateau, that classical volcanic region which the German naturalist Franz Junghuhn has so graphically described. My road then took me along Goenoeng Panggonang and Goenoeng Pakoeodja with their still active solfataras and their springs of boiling water; along the Telerep, that shattered old volcano whose very appearance testifies of eruptions and convulsions which defy description; along the Telogo Mendjer, the deep crater-lake inbedded in walls of rock and offering one of the loveliest basins in the whole world. Then further along the western slopes of the Goenoeng Lindoro, the fairest and most symmetrical volcano in Java which rises to a perpendicular height of fully 10,000 feet above the sea-level; and thus, at length, I arrived at Wonosobo. But for all this I had no eyes. I passed unmoved by all these marvellous beauties of nature, which in the shape of pyramids, of jagged mountain-ridges, of steep and towering rocks, of dashing mountain torrents, of thundering cataracts, of magnificent lakes, of green table-lands, of picturesque valleys, of dizzy ravines, of deep, dark precipices, of hoary forests, of delightful coffee and tea plantations, moved before me like some wondrous and ever varied panorama. One only thought possessed me: Anna! and I had but one object in view, namely, to hurry on as quickly as possible and to get to the end of my journey.

"'Come coachman, drive on, drive on!' was my only cry to the Automedon who certainly did his best and plied his long whip with merciless dexterity.

"But when I arrived at Wonosobo my impatience was far from being satisfied.

"The kindest reception awaited me, and the Assistant Resident had prepared for my entertainment on the most liberal scale. You know the family Kleinsma, so I need enter into no details. The journey had the most beneficial effect upon my health; but yet I had to allow several days to pass before I could safely venture on a trip to Karang Anjer. I made use of my stay to tell my host something, at least, of the state of my affairs. I explained to him that I was most anxious to avoid observation and to keep away from Poerworedjo the capital of that district.

"'Indeed,' said Kleinsma, 'you will find that no easy matter. In that case you will have to go by way of Kaliwiro, Ngalian, Peniron and so to Karang Anjer.'

"'Will that take me far out of my way?' I asked, thinking that he was alluding to the length of the journey.

"'Not at all,' was his reply. 'On the contrary you will by that road cut off about one third of the distance; but you cannot travel in a carriage. Our roads about here are very good; but in the interior you can travel only on horseback. You will moreover have to take a guide; for the roads cross one another and form so intricate a web, that it forms a very labyrinth and, even the most accurate map would hardly save you from losing your way altogether.'

"That prospect however could not deter me. I passed eight days in that beautiful climate, and then, when all feverish symptoms had left me, I undertook the journey which was, in truth, a rather perilous one. The horse which Kleinsma had procured me was a stout Javanese mountain nag, and, in spite of the difficult nature of the ground, he always managed to get along at the rate of about six miles an hour. When the road lay up the mountain, the good beast would take to galloping without my having to use whip or spur. When the path ran downhill, if the descent was not too steep, he would keep up a decent trot or a good fast walk. At Ngalian I changed horses and obtained a still better mount than my former one. Thus I got over the Besser mountains, over the spurs of the Midangang and of the Paras and Boetak hills, and, at four o'clock in the afternoon, I reached Karang Anjer.

"Alas! William, all this trouble proved in vain. I could gain no information about my dear Anna. I intend to let you know all about my disappointment on a future occasion; for the present, I have not the courage to go on."

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XXIX. AT KARANG ANJER. AN ACQUITTAL

Yes, it was true enough, all poor van Nerekool's trouble had been absolutely in vain.

When he got to Karang Anjer he found in Mrs. Steenvlak a most amiable and highly accomplished lady, who, in her husband's absence, received him most kindly and hospitably; but who, as regards Anna van Gulpendam, refused to give him the slightest information.

The young lawyer did his very best--he questioned and cross-questioned his hostess; but he had to do with a shrewd and clever woman who was quite able to hold her own, and would give him no direct answers. Most amiable Mrs. Steenvlak was no doubt; but he could get no information out of her; and all her replies to his oft-repeated questions left our despairing lover in the greatest perplexity. He begged and entreated, and she listened to him with the most unwearying patience, she showed even the deepest sympathy for his distress; but nevertheless nothing could move her to divulge anything.

"Yes," said she, "Anna has been staying with us for the last few weeks, and I am happy to say, Mr. van Nerekool, that I succeeded in becoming her friend, and in obtaining her confidence. I will tell you further, that in her despair, the poor girl has told me everything--you understand me, do you not, when I say everything? She has told me of your mutual affection, and she has also shown me the barrier, the insurmountable barrier, which must for ever keep you apart."

"Madam!" cried van Nerekool in dismay at her words.

"And," continued Mrs. Steenvlak, "I am bound to tell you that I think the dear girl is right in every word she says. Of a marriage between you and her there cannot possibly be any further question; not even if you could succeed in winning the full consent of her parents. Utter misery for both of you would be the inevitable result of so foolish a step. Anna is, in my opinion, quite right when she maintains that a woman must have an unsullied name for her dowry."

"But, madam!" passionately cried van Nerekool, "Anna is blameless and pure!"

"I am speaking of her name, Mr. van Nerekool, not of her person. A man must be able to pronounce his wife's name without having to blush as he mentions it. Her parents must possess his esteem, and they must be worthy of his respect. If those conditions do not exist then, for both man and wife, existence must soon become intolerable. It must become so to him; for he will always have to be carefully on his guard, weighing every word he speaks or leaves unspoken; and this restraint soon must banish all real confidence between them. Every heedless expression, on the other hand, would inevitably inflict a wound upon her, and, in the most innocent utterances, she needs must see some hidden meaning. In fact, under such circumstances, no compromise is possible."

"But, Mrs. Steenvlak," insisted van Nerekool, "I have proposed to Anna that we should leave Java altogether and go to Australia, to Singapore, or to any other place she might prefer. There no one would know the name of van Gulpendam, and we might live only for one another--and--and, I believe that our love would enable us to forget the dreary past, and thus a compromise might very easily be possible. As far as I am concerned no single word would ever drop from my lips which would allude to the past--I know how deeply any such hint must wound her, and, believe me, I love her far too dearly to inflict upon her the slightest pain."

"Oh yes, Mr. van Nerekool, of that I have no doubt whatever; but, you see, that very silence, that very reticence on your part would be most painful to her; and it would ultimately become too great a restraint upon you also--you could not possibly bear it. But, for the matter of that, I must tell you that, with respect to your letters to her, she has never told me a single word."

"How could she do so?" asked van Nerekool, "all my letters have been returned to me unopened."

"I am glad of it," replied Mrs. Steenvlak, "there again Anna has acted most wisely; and in acting thus she has spared herself, and you too, much useless sorrow. Every communication from you, every effort on your part to remove the existing obstacles between you, could only be most painful, and could not possibly lead to any good result."

"Madam!" cried van Nerekool.

"You said, for instance, just now, that you have proposed to Anna to go to Singapore, and to be married there. But, just consider, how could you have undertaken that journey? Separately? I do not suppose that you could intend so young a girl to undertake such a journey alone. Together? You feel at once how such a proposition would have wounded her modesty and her feelings. No, I am glad indeed that she had the courage not to read your letters."

"But, Mrs. Steenvlak," said van Nerekool, adopting another tone, "supposing that I were prepared to accept the present circumstances as they are?"

"What can you mean?" asked Mrs. Steenvlak in some surprise.

"Supposing," continued he, "that in spite of her parents, in spite of all that has occurred, I should be prepared to make her my wife?"

"Mr. van Nerekool," replied Mrs. Steenvlak very seriously, "do not speak so wildly I pray. In spite of her parents! That must mean that you are prepared to accept all the consequences such a step would entail. In other words, that you are prepared to show her parents that respect and that esteem which they could justly claim from you as their son-in-law. But do you not see that by thus acting you would be making yourself contemptible in Anna's eyes?--you would be taking away the last support the girl still has to cling to in her exile. Believe me, the cruellest blow you can strike a woman of her nature, is to prove to her that she placed her affections on one unworthy of her. The unsullied image of him whom once she loved--whom she perhaps still fondly loves--gives her, in spite of the obstacles which separate you from one another, the best consolation in her sorrow. And that pure remembrance will be to her, together with the consciousness of having acted strictly in accordance with her duty, her chief support in a lonely life."

As Mrs. Steenvlak was speaking, Charles van Nerekool had covered his face with his hands. At her last words however he sprang up from his chair, he took her hand and said:

"A lonely life you say? Oh, do tell me where Anna now is. I will go to her, perhaps even yet I may succeed in winning her--tell me where to find her!"

"Mr. van Nerekool," rejoined Mrs. Steenvlak, very quietly, "do not, I pray you, try to do any such thing. She has given me her fullest confidence, and I do not intend to betray it. She has told me every detail, she has consulted me about the line of conduct she ought to adopt; and in all she does she has my sanction. Do you think that I would throw fresh difficulties in her way? You surely cannot wish me to do so."

"But," cried van Nerekool passionately, "what does she intend to do--what kind of plans has she formed?"

"She simply intends henceforth to live forgotten."

"Perhaps to mar--!" cried he.

"My dear sir," hastily interrupted Mrs. Steenvlak, "do not pronounce that word, I forbid you to do so. In your mouth such a word conveys a foul calumny. She has refused your hand--she will never marry another."

"But what then does she intend to do?"

"I have told you," replied Mrs. Steenvlak, "she intends to live in perfect solitude and oblivion; and thus she wishes quietly to await death, which, she hopes, will soon release her from all her troubles."

"She is ill then?" cried he in dismay.

"No, she is not ill," replied Mrs. Steenvlak; "but such a trial as she has gone through is not at all unlikely to impair a young girl's health; and may very probably shorten her life."

"Madam," cried van Nerekool, "your words are torture!"

"I am telling you the simple truth."

"Oh tell me--where is she?"

"Never," was the quiet reply.

"Is she in Java? Is she in India?"

"I will not give you the slightest clue."

"Has she gone to Europe? Oh, I beg and pray you, have pity upon me and deliver me from this fearful suspense?"

"I will tell you nothing at all. Do you understand me, Mr. van Nerekool? nothing at all."

"Can I not in any way move you to pity?"

"No, Mr. van Nerekool, I intend to remain true to my word and, moreover--"

"But, madam," interrupted van Nerekool vehemently, "you must take pity upon my wretchedness!"

"Moreover," continued Mrs. Steenvlak calmly, "I feel certain that in acting as I am doing, and in keeping absolute silence, I am preventing much future misery."

"You are hard, you are pitiless!" cried the young man in despair, as he rushed from the house. For a couple of days longer he stayed at Karang Anjer, at the house of the regent of that dessa who entertained him with the utmost hospitality.

He cross-examined his host. "Yes--he knew nonna Anna well. She had frequently, in company with the njonja, called upon his wife; but she had gone away without letting anyone know where she intended to go to. His wife and he thought that she had gone back to Santjoemeh."

The unhappy lover kept wandering about the neighbourhood, making inquiries everywhere. He tried to obtain some clue from the loerahs, from the overseer, from the postmasters round about; but nowhere--nowhere--could he obtain the slightest information. Either these people really knew nothing, or else they were obeying orders and would tell him nothing. This seemed to van Nerekool most likely, as he heard at a certain posting station that no one could tell where the young lady had gone. During his wanderings he sat down at many a guard house, and again and again he put the same question: "Could anyone tell him where to look for the young European lady?" But it was only to receive the same answer over and over again, "No, sir."

In his distress and perplexity, he at length left Karang Anjer and went to Tjilatjap, for he wanted to find out whether there was any truth in the report which van Gulpendam had so assiduously circulated, namely that his daughter had gone to Europe. Very luckily for him the regent of Karang Anjer possessed a travelling carriage which he placed at the disposal of his guest. This was a most fortunate thing for van Nerekool; for he would otherwise have had to travel the fifty-two miles to the harbour on horseback, and, in his desponding frame of mind, the fatigue of so long a journey might have had the most serious effect upon his health. The road from Karang Anjer to Tjilatjap lies on one continuous plain which is but very little above the sea-level, while the hills which rise close to the Indian Ocean run north and south, thus preventing the free circulation of land and sea breezes and rendering the atmosphere exceedingly oppressive and stifling.

When van Nerekool reached the harbour, he found that there also he could obtain no tidings. Neither the assistant resident of that place, nor the harbour-master nor any of the agents of the steam Navigation Company--nor, in fact any of the other shipping agents, knew anything about the departure of a young girl to Australia or to any other country. For months past no strange ship had sailed from that port; and the boats of the India Navigation Company which run to Australia, do not go along the South coast of Java but get into the Indian Ocean by the Bali straits. It was evident, therefore, that van Gulpendam's tale of two ladies under whose escort Anna travelled to Europe, was a merely trumped-up story.

Weary and sick at heart, van Nerekool was forced to return to Wonosobo by way of Bandjar Negara. There he stayed for a little while longer, and when, in that magnificent climate, he had almost entirely regained his health and strength, he went back to Santjoemeh where he found his friends, August van Beneden, Leendert Grashuis, Theodoor Grenits and Edward van Rheijn anxiously waiting to welcome him home.

"Well?" was the question of all of them as soon as they had made inquiries after their friend's health, "well?"

The question alluded of course to his inquiries, for the anxiety and the efforts of van Nerekool had remained no secret among them.

"Nothing!" replied van Nerekool fetching a deep sigh, "I have found out nothing, not even the faintest clue."

"No more have I," added Grenits.

"You?" asked Charles in surprise.

"Yes," rejoined the young merchant. "I also have been at work. I have made inquiries amongst all the commercial men in Dutch India; but from all sides I have had but one answer. 'No young girl in any way corresponding to the description of Miss van Gulpendam has started from any of the shipping stations.'"

"You think therefore--?" asked van Nerekool.

"I think that Miss van Gulpendam has not left Java at all."

"But where on earth can she be then?" cried van Rheijn.

"God only knows!" sighed van Nerekool.

"But her parents?" observed Leendert Grashuis, "we can hardly suppose that a young lady of her age could have thus disappeared without consulting her parents."

"No," said van Rheijn, "especially as we know that Resident van Gulpendam is not exactly the papa to play tricks with."

"Yet," rejoined van Nerekool, "I am of opinion that neither the Resident nor his wife have the least idea where Anna now is."

Thereupon he told his friends all about his conversation with Mrs. Steenvlak; and when he had given them a detailed account of all that passed between him and that lady, he concluded by saying, "She only could give us the information we want if she would."

"If that be so," remarked van Beneden, "we ought to search in the neighbourhood of Karang Anjer."

"I have done so," was van Nerekool's reply, "I have most minutely searched the entire district. I have questioned everybody whom I considered in the least likely to know anything about her movements; but all my inquiries have ended in nothing."

"Well, Charles," said Grashuis, "in that case I can see nothing for it than to leave the solution of the mystery to time."

"To time!" sighed van Nerekool, "I suppose you are right; but, my dear friends, I am most wretched and most miserable."

"You must get to business and, by hard work, seek to divert your thoughts," said van Beneden. "I can assure you that your absence has not diminished the arrears of work at the Court of Justice. At all events, brooding over your troubles can do no good whatever."

"Well," replied van Nerekool, "to work then. God grant that hard work may have the effect you anticipate."

"That reminds me," remarked Grenits, "that to-morrow I shall have to appear in court."

"You? what for?"

"Don't you remember Mokesuep's business?"

"Oh, aye, for the cuffs you administered to that scoundrel!"

"That will mean eight days for you, friend Theodoor," observed van Beneden, "eight days at least of seclusion. Well, that's not so very formidable after all."

August van Beneden was not very far wrong, for the court condemned Grenits to ten days' imprisonment and to pay a fine of twenty-five guilders for the assault, which, though it had led to no serious consequences, was no light offence, inasmuch as it had been committed on the person of a witness in a case of opium smuggling. The sentence would probably have been much more severe; but the court made allowance for the natural feelings of indignation called forth by the shameful conduct of the opium police towards a defenceless young girl, at which the plaintiff Mokesuep had been present without interfering to protect her from insult. No sooner had the sentence been pronounced, than every hand in a crowded court was stretched out to Theodoor Grenits, while Mokesuep was shunned like some venomous reptile. The public did not look upon the punishment in the light of a degradation at all; and Grenits became the hero of the hour. A few days after this, baboe Dalima's case came on before the native court at Santjoemeh.

The Javanese girl most emphatically denied that any opium had been found in her possession, she even swore that she had not been searched for any such object. She gave a very simple and unvarnished account of all that had taken place; but the testimony of Mrs. van Gulpendam and that of Mokesuep contradicted her assertions. The former handed in a written statement to the effect that she had not given the baboe leave to spend the night outside the Residence; but had only given her permission to start on the next morning, and that she had, in fact, set her a pretty heavy task of needlework to finish before going. Mokesuep swore that the girl's story was a fabrication from beginning to end, that she had violently resisted the search for opium and had bitten Lim Ho's ear as he made an attempt at holding her hands. That, in this struggle with the bandoelan, her dress had become torn and deranged, and that she might very probably have received a few scratches, but that there had been nothing resembling the outrage of which she accused Lim Ho.

The medical officer also was examined, and he maintained that there could have been no such assault as the girl complained of; he spoke only of some slight abrasions which had occasioned a trifling loss of blood.

In all this evidence the demoralising influence of the opium farmer could plainly be seen; but however conscientious might have been the new president who now occupied Mr. Zuidhoorn's place, the evidence must have compelled him to dismiss the complaint lodged by Dalima against Lim Ho.

The court, therefore, proceeded to deal with the charge of opium smuggling of which the baboe stood accused.

The deposition left by the murdered bandoelan Singomengolo was positive enough. It stated most distinctly that, hidden in the folds of her sarong and under the waistband, he had found a box full of opium. That the box in question had been delivered to Controller Verstork and had been sealed up by him. That the contents had been examined and were found to consist of eight matas of opium of coarse and blackish appearance, and of a sourish smell, and that, therefore, it could not have been obtained from the opium farmer in a legitimate way.

But, when the little box was produced in court and was shown to Lim Ho, he hesitated for a while, and at length said that the struggle which was going on prevented him from actually seeing Singomengolo produce the box and that, moreover, his ear was very painful, and he was at the time busy in trying to staunch the blood. He could not, therefore, declare that he had seen the box at all until Singomengolo handed it to Verstork. It thus appeared that the man, though a vile scoundrel, was not wholly devoid of better feelings.

Not so, however, with Mokesuep. When he entered the witness-box, bound by his oath to utter nothing but the truth, he did not for an instant scruple to say that he had actually seen Singomengolo discover the box hidden in the girl's clothing; and in giving his evidence he entered so minutely into detail and gave so graphic a description of the poor girl's struggles, that he fairly disgusted all present. Very ominous murmurs of disapprobation arose among the crowd. This went so far, that at length the president had to interfere, and to request the witness to confine himself strictly to the facts, as all such embellishments and elaborate descriptions were clearly superfluous.

The chief-djaksa appeared as public prosecutor, and, as this was Dalima's first offence, he demanded that she should be condemned to three months' hard labour.

August van Beneden however stood up for the defence, and drew the attention of the court to the fact that the small box which had been produced, was precisely similar to that other one which the bandoelan pretended to have discovered in the hut of Setrosmito the defendant's father. He further mentioned the rather strange coincidence, that, on the body of Singomengolo, after his murder, a number of other little boxes were found, all precisely similar again to that produced against Dalima. He called the coppersmith from whom the bandoelan had procured these boxes, and this man swore that Singomengolo had bought twelve of them from him, at the price of seven guilders.

August van Beneden took advantage of this man's evidence to remind the court of the dodges and tricks which all opium hunters were well known to employ in order to secure the conviction of any one they might accuse. Finally he altogether disputed the authority of the individuals who had testified to the nature and value of the opium. The document they had drawn up as containing the result of their examination, he rejected as absolutely valueless; inasmuch as it was the work of Chinamen who were no chemists at all; but had come to the conclusion that the drug could not have been obtained through the regular channels, simply on the evidence of colour, taste, and smell. He pointed out that, as a general rule, the worst opium smugglers were the farmers themselves, and that, in hardly any two cases were their wretched mixtures alike. In fact he defied even the most expert chemist to establish anything like perfect similarity between two different decoctions of the same farmer.

The young advocate was completely successful; and the court at Santjoemeh declared that the charge against baboe Dalima had not been satisfactorily established, and therefore acquitted her. She was set at liberty there and then, and the treasury was ordered to pay the costs of the prosecution.

The verdict was hailed with thundering applause, and the public became so demonstrative that the president had peremptorily to call for silence. Mokesuep left the court amidst looks and gestures of the most profound contempt and much hissing and hooting. He got into his carriage as quickly as he could and immediately drove off. It was evident that the public was well aware of what had taken place in the hut by the Djoerang Pringapoes, and that everybody knew the odious part Mokesuep had played in the transaction.

The trial was no sooner over than a crowd of well-wishers surrounded the unfortunate Javanese girl Every one could plainly enough see the painful situation she was in, and pitied her accordingly. Had the law allowed further inquiry, Lim Ho might have found himself in a difficult position; but as no legal remedy existed, the public showed the greatest sympathy towards his victim. On all sides she received congratulations on the happy issue of her trial, on all sides she heard kind words and friendly offers. Van Nerekool, Grenits, Grashuis, van Rheijn, and van Beneden, were of course close to the poor creature who, though deeply moved by the sympathy she received, yet could not refrain from shedding tears of sorrow as she thought of her blighted youth. Van Nerekool proposed to place her in the house of an aged couple where she might be sure of the kindest treatment in return for such services as she could render to the mistress of the house. Dalima heartily thanked the young judge for his great kindness; but she told him that she intended to take up her abode with her mother until after the event she was expecting. The poor girl was a genuine child of nature, and felt no false shame as she spoke of her misfortune. She took that opportunity, however, to gain some information about nonna Anna. But, as we know, Charles van Nerekool could tell her nothing more than that her young mistress had spent some time at Karang Anjer, and thereupon had disappeared without leaving any clue as to her whereabouts.

"Karang Anjer? where is that?" asked Dalima, musingly.

Van Nerekool gave her the necessary directions, and then he proceeded to join his friends whom Grenits had invited to his house to drink a glass together in honour of van Beneden's victory. It was getting somewhat late in the day and the sun's rays darting down almost perpendicularly made the heat most oppressive; but a good pair of horses soon brought our friends to Grenits' door.

Glad enough to get under cover, they all rushed in, and Grenits at once cried out to his servant, "Sidin, get us some fizz quickly!" and a few moments after the young men were congratulating van Beneden on his well-merited success in a glass of sparkling Veuve Clicquot.

After the first burst of excitement was over, and when they had begun to discuss somewhat more calmly the incidents of the trial, a feeling of disappointment began to prevail.

"Is it not enough to make one despair altogether of the future of our fair Indian possessions," cried Grashuis, "when we come to think that we are sitting here congratulating one another on the issue of such a case as this? Every single person, including even the members of the court itself, is convinced that poor little Dalima is the victim of a most detestable outrage and yet, not only does the real culprit escape scot free, but the innocent girl herself was very near being found guilty, and punished for a purely imaginary offence! Could such a thing ever have happened at home? There must be something radically wrong in our entire colonial system."

"I will tell you in one word," replied Grenits, "where the mischief lies, it is the abominable opium trade which is at the bottom of all this, which overrules and demoralises everything out here. You heard the head-djaksa's prosecution? Did you ever see anything more neatly put together? Did you notice how cleverly all the witnesses who might have spoken in Dalima's favour were got out of the way? Verstork sent to Atjeh, Miss van Gulpendam smuggled away somehow or other, while Mokesuep did not fail to put in an appearance."

"The brute!" muttered van Rheijn.

"Yes," continued Grenits, "and if it had not been for our friend August, that poor girl would have been found guilty as so many others have been who have been falsely accused of opium crimes. Just now you asked, Leendert, whether any such thing could possibly happen in Holland. I do not take upon myself to say what may be possible or impossible there; but this one thing I do know, that our whole opium-system is derived from thence, that year by year the opium revenue keeps on rising by several millions; and that thus the passion for opium is, by every possible means, excited to its utmost pitch. I further know that our Government and our Government officials are thus compelled by the authorities at home to support the opium farmers and to wink at all their dirty tricks with their attendant train of fatal consequences. Is it not enough to make one hide one's head for shame when we come to think that we belong to a nation whose sordid love of money and grasping avarice not only tolerate such a state of things, but actually fosters and encourages it?"

All present shook their heads and sighed; for the words Grenits uttered were the simple truth.

"But," inquired van Rheijn, "ought we to blame the nation for all this? Ought we not rather to find fault with the Government which countenances such abuses?"

"The Government!" impatiently exclaimed Grenits, "a nation always deserves the Government it has. Yes, of course, it is the Government which issues the orders and which acts; but the nation looks on and--is loud in its praises of a minister who can boast that he makes as much out of the business as can be squeezed from it. It seems to me that the Dutch people have either lost their manliness altogether or else are on the verge of idiocy. It has no eye, no heart for its colonies, no feeling whatever, nothing, only one single thought: 'that minister balances his budget admirably!' And then the minister, feeling certain of success and applause, actually in his place in the House allows himself to perpetrate jests which an ordinary individual would be ashamed to utter in a pot-house. Then his friends applaud and the legislature seems to consider his jokes a very pretty exhibition of wit."

Fortunately, however, at this moment Sidin came in, and his appearance checked the young merchant's indignant flow of words, a thing which his friends might not have found it easy to do. The Javanese servant held two formidable looking letters in his hand, which he offered to his master.

"By Jove," cried van Rheijn, "two official letters! I bet you that it is the order to send you to jail."

Grenits made no reply, but quietly opened one of the letters.

"Only a very commonplace marriage announcement," said he when he had glanced at the paper; and then, when he had looked at it again, he cried out:

"I say, boys, here's fun! just listen to me:--'Mr. and Mrs. Lim Yang Bing and Mr. and Mrs. Ngow Ming Than have the honour to announce the approaching marriage of Mr. Lim Ho, son of the former, to Miss Ngow Ming Nio daughter of the latter. The marriage ceremony will take place on the third of September next, and a reception will subsequently be held at the residence of Mr. Lim Yang Bing in the Gang Pinggir at Santjoemeh.'"

"Piping hot," remarked Grenits, "poor Dalima's trial is scarcely over!"

"A Chinese wedding must be a curious affair," said van Rheijn. "You are going eh?"

"You may go if you like," returned van Nerekool, "I have not the slightest objection, if only you will allow me to stay at home. I could not, for the life of me, hold out my hand to that scoundrel Lim Ho, or offer him even the most formal congratulations."

"Come, come," said Grashuis. "There will no doubt be a great crowd, and it will be easy enough to get out of that part of the ceremony without being remarked at all; who is to notice it?"

"That's right!" laughed Grenits, "that's it 'des accommodements avec le ciel!' But just let me see what this second document is about. Upon my word, Edward, you would have won your bet. The day after to-morrow, I have to surrender myself into the custody of the jailer to undergo my sentence of ten consecutive days of imprisonment."

For a few moments, a silence fell upon all present. They quite justified Grenits' conduct, and in fact applauded it as a generous outburst of manly indignation. But yet the fact of ten days' imprisonment threw a gloom over these young men, who were so full of vigour and life. The condemned man, however, was the first to regain his cheerfulness, "Well, my friends," cried he, "you will try and preserve me from feeling too lonely, I hope."

"That we will!" cried one, "I have a splendid novel by Ebers, called Serapis, it has only just come out, I will send it you."

"And I," exclaimed another, "I shall have my piano sent up to the jail, then you can strum away to your heart's content."

"And we will come and sit with you as often as we possibly can, you will not lack company."

"That's best of all!" cried Grenits gaily.

"I will bring my fiddle."

"Yes, and I my flute."

"Then," laughed Grenits, "we shall get the whole jail to execute a sarabande de condamnés."

"The sarabande is all very well," remarked van Beneden; "but I think we might do something better than that."

"Well, what is it?" asked all in chorus.

"You remember, do you not, that as we were seated together under the Wariengien tree on the green at Kaligaweh, I proposed making an experiment in opium smoking, in order to find out what its effect really is. Very well, on Sunday next, we might carry out that plan."

"Capital! a capital idea!"

"But," asked Grashuis, "who will provide the opium and the pipe?"

"Leave that to me," replied van Rheijn, "don't trouble about that, I shall get all we require."

"All right, gentlemen," said Grenits, "that's a bargain!"

As he spoke he shook hands with his friends, and the company broke up.

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