“I don’t at all like the idea of it, Dalima. What will mamma say?”
“Oh, Nana dear,” cried the baboe, in despair, “do pray go and try—do pray go and ask madam!”
“She is quite sure to refuse,” said Anna.
“Why should she?” persisted the girl.
“She will be just as much afraid as I am that in the darkness of the night some accident may happen to you. How can you possibly dare to undertake such a journey, Dalima?”
“My father is dying—he wants to see me!” cried Dalima. “That is quite enough to give me courage for anything, Miss Anna. I would go to Kaligaweh even if I knew that the road was full of ghosts—yes, if there were a ghost behind every tree! Yet, I am much more frightened of ghosts than of beasts or of men. Nana, I beg and pray—do go and ask your mother!”
“Well,” said the tender-hearted young girl, “I will go and try; but mind you, I know it will not be of the slightest use.”
“Thank you, Nana, thank you.”
Thereupon Miss Anna rose from the divan upon which she had taken a seat after she had admitted Dalima. She thrust her dainty little feet into a pair of slippers she had carelessly thrown off. The young girl was already partially undressed, and had been reclining in only her sarong and kabaai; but she very soon threw about her a richly embroidered morning gown, with a few turns of her dexterous hand she twisted the rich mass of her loose-hanging hair into a knot, and ran to the front-gallery in which her parents and the other card-players were still engaged in their game.
To her great surprise fair Laurentia made no difficulty at all, and at once acceded to her daughter’s request, stipulating only that, before setting out, Dalima should finish some needle-work which she had given her to do and which she particularly wished to have ready by the morning.