The word “Engèh” is always in the mouth of a Javanese whenever he addresses a European. He will give that answer even when he has not understood a word of what has been said to him, and it must not be taken to express any opinion of his own, but it is simply a meaningless and polite kind of consent to whatever his superior may choose to say to him. Van Gulpendam thoroughly knew the Javanese character, and was therefore not the least surprised at his man’s answer.
“Go,” said he, “to the inspector and tell him that I want him to come to me at once.” The servant still retaining his posture, pushed himself backward for a few paces, then sprang up and hurried off to carry out his master’s order. A few moments later, after the usual greetings and compliments had been exchanged, the conversation became general.
Anna seized this opportunity, and quietly slipped away, scarcely noticed by any one present. Dalima, she knew, had returned, and she was full of curiosity to hear what had become of Ardjan. She had managed to overhear a few scraps of her father’s conversation with the “Oppas,” but had not been able to get at the truth of the story. When she reached the pandoppo she found Dalima there, seated, cross-legged as usual, but with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What in the world has happened to you, Dalima?” cried she. “Do tell us all about it.”
“O Nana,” cried the poor girl, “they have abused my Ardjan so shamefully!”
And thereupon she told her mistress in what a pitiable state she had found her lover. “Oh,” she sobbed, “if I could have got there a little sooner!”
“But, who has treated him so dreadfully?” cried Anna full of sympathy.
“Lim Ho,” replied Dalima.
“Lim Ho?” said Anna. “Why, what was he doing there?”
“That I can’t tell you,” replied the girl. “All I can say is that I recognised him quite plainly as he was rowed past the djaga monjet ‘out of the Moeara Tjatjing.’ ”