“You asked her how far Pembanan was from the dessas Sikaja and Pringtoetoel—did you not?”
“Yes, that is so,” replied Anna.
“Very well, then, that clue I have followed, up hill and down dale.”
“Poor, poor dear girl!” cried Anna, as with tears in her eyes she again clasped Dalima to her breast. “Poor child! such a journey, and in your condition, too! Yes, now I see how worn and weary you look!”
“Oh, that’s nothing!” cried Dalima cheerfully, “that’s nothing, I am strong enough, Nana, don’t trouble yourself about that.
“At Pringtoetoel,” she continued, “I got further information. There they told me that you had gone on to the dessa Ajo. When I got there I found the very sedan in which you had travelled—it was stowed away in the loerah’s grounds—and they told me that you had a house built for yourself up here—How very pretty!”
As she said this Dalima looked around; and an involuntary sigh escaped from her lips, a sigh which contrasted strangely with her spoken words. The Javanese girl could not help comparing this wretched little tenement with the stately Residential palace at Santjoemeh.
Hitherto the conversation had been carried on standing, the girls half leaning upon, half embracing one another. Said Anna, who perfectly understood the meaning of that sigh and wished to break the train of Dalima’s thoughts:
“Come, let us sit down, you must be dead-tired, poor Dalima.”
So saying she resumed her seat on the little bench while Dalima, as in days gone by, squatted down on the mat at Anna’s feet and laid her head lovingly in her mistress’s lap. Then the conversation flowed on as briskly as before.