“What in the world is the matter with you, old fellow?” said Verstork as he laid his hand on his shoulder and sat down by the side of his friend. “You have been so silent and so absent all day, you must be ill I fear!”
“No, William, I am not ill, but I feel so very—so very wretched.”
“Wretched!” said Verstork, “come now, tell us all about it, there’s a good fellow, let me bear some part of your sorrow!”
“Ah!” sighed van Nerekool, “I can tell you nothing—nothing that you could share with me. William, my dear friend, you recollect our conversation of last Saturday night at Santjoemeh?”
“Every word of it,” replied Verstork. “I then told you that in one week’s time I would give you my reasons why I considered your love affair with Miss van Gulpendam a very sad business. That week is up to-day—is it not?”
“Yes, my friend,” said van Nerekool very sadly. “But you can tell me nothing now. During the last week many things have happened. I suppose that even on Saturday last you knew that Resident van Gulpendam was not at all well disposed towards me?”
To that question Verstork gave no direct reply; but he insisted upon being told all that had taken place.
“Come,” said he, “come, Charles, tell me all about it. You know perfectly well that you have in me a true friend. Let us hear all about it.”
“But,” replied van Nerekool, “you want rest. You ought to go to sleep. To-morrow you have a hard day before you.”
“Oh!” said Verstork, lightly, “never mind about that. I have often enough gone the rounds of the government coffee-plantations, and have passed many a sleepless night in the dessas with quite as hard a day in prospect as to-morrow is likely to be. I can very easily afford an old friend like you an hour or so of sleep. Do pray speak out.”