“But, njonjaa, Nana has been staying with you here,” cried the poor girl.
“Yes, Dalima, that is so.”
“But where is she now, njaa?”
“She has gone away.”
“Yes, njaa; but where is she?”
“That I cannot tell you.”
The faithful young girl twisted and turned her questions in every conceivable way—most plaintively she lengthened out her “njonjaaa”—but she could get no answer.
Did Mrs. Steenvlak really not know what had become of Anna? That was hardly probable. Might she perhaps have some suspicion that Dalima had been sent on her errand by van Nerekool? That was precisely what the lady did think probable. She knew that the girl was well aware of the affection which existed between her mistress and the young lawyer, and, moreover, Dalima had, in the course of conversation quite innocently remarked, that Charles van Nerekool had visited her in the prison at Santjoemeh, and that she had received money from him. Mrs. Steenvlak was very far indeed from harbouring any sinister suspicions against Dalima; she saw perfectly well that love for her mistress was the only motive that had brought her all that distance. But yet, she could not help thinking that this devotion to Anna was mingled with some feeling of gratitude for the European gentleman who had showed himself so kind to Dalima in her distress. And again, might not the girl honestly imagine that in bringing the lovers together she was promoting the happiness of both? These considerations made Mrs. Steenvlak very guarded in her replies.
“Njonjaa,” began Dalima again, “do tell me where I may find my Nana.”
“I have told you already, and I tell you again, that I know nothing about it,” was the lady’s answer.