“I know no brother Diedrich!” he cried. “There was one of our family of that name, but he is an outlaw, and dare not show his face in Holland. You are some impostor who has heard of him, and come here to claim my property.”
“I never thought of your property,” I returned hotly. “I am no impostor, and no outlaw; I have long since been pardoned for a crime I never committed.”
“I will not listen to you,” he said nervously; “I do not believe you. When we last heard of my brother he was living with a tribe of savage Indians in some wild country, and he is there still. Leave this house, or the servants shall thrust you out.”
I stepped up to him in red-hot rage.
“Since this is my reception I will assert my rights. I will leave my house now, and when I return it will be you who will have to leave. Look here!” I went on, drawing from my pocket the letters I had from the governor of Java, which I had not yet delivered; “does an impostor usually carry such credentials as these?” and I showed him the superscriptions, and the great seal of the Company on the back.
He blenched visibly, and muttered something about “forgeries”. I gave him a look of contempt, and left the house.
I was cut to the heart. From savages, from strangers, from everyone, even pirates, I had received gentle, kindly treatment, and now my own brother, my sole relation, cast me out as an impostor seeking to rob him.
A handsome, richly-dressed man came by and gazed curiously at me, as many people did on account of my dark face and white hair and beard. He turned, followed, and spoke to me.
“What ails it, friend?” he asked, in a cordial voice. “You look like a stranger, and one who has travelled far and suffered much, and in such men I am always interested.”
I looked at him, but there was nothing in his face but the most manly sympathy.