“How is he getting on at Atjeh?”
These questions crossed one another, and were uttered, as it were, in a breath; for the five young men were warmly attached to the worthy controller.
“Yes,” replied van Nerekool, “I am glad to tell you that Verstork is in perfect health, and that he is getting on uncommonly well in the military world yonder.”
“Well, that’s a blessing,” remarked van Rheijn, who never liked soldiers, “I am glad to hear it—I don’t at all want to change places with him.”
“And what is his letter about, Charles?” asked van Beneden.
“His letter is a very long one,” replied van Nerekool, “much too long to read to you this evening. The greater part of it, moreover, is devoted to purely private matters; and contains particulars concerning the parents of Anna van Gulpendam, which I do not think I have a right to communicate to you. He tries to cure me of my love for her, and I have no doubt that his endeavour is exceedingly well meant; but yet the contents of his letter have made me very melancholy, as they make the chasm between us appear deeper and more impassible than it seemed before.
“Where can she be?” he continued after an instant’s pause—“If I only knew that then all would not be lost!”
The four friends looked at one another sadly—that letter had evidently touched a string which vibrated painfully in van Nerekool’s heart.
“Come, Charles,” said Grashuis, trying to rouse his friend, “you must not give way to that melancholy mood. You must try and accept the inevitable. Moreover, who can tell what the future may bring!”
“But she is gone!” cried Van Nerekool hopelessly, “she has disappeared without leaving a trace.”