“Result of opium-sale at Santjoemeh—two millions. Van Gulpendam.”
One dispatch was destined for Batavia, the other was for the Hague.
When the oppasser whom he sent to the telegraph office had disappeared, van Gulpendam looked around him with the utmost satisfaction and complacency. As his eye fell upon the Dutch flag, which spread its gay colours to the breeze, he fancied that those folds pointed to the North-West—towards home.
“Aye,” he muttered to himself, “from that quarter my reward must come.”
Turning round as he said these words, he saw Laurentia standing at his elbow. He gave her one penetrating look:
“You here yet?” asked he.
But without replying, she grasped his arm, drew him with gentle violence into the inner room, and there, when safe from every prying look, she clasped him in her strong white arms to her breast.
“Gulpie!” she cried, “Gulpie, my darling! you have surpassed yourself!”
“Yes,” said he, with assumed modesty, “yes, I have piloted that frigate pretty cleverly, though I say so myself. Now, I hope they will not be ungrateful at the Hague!”