“Write that down!”
Verbrugge wrote it. . . . it lies before me.
“To proceed, Is it true, or untrue, that much extortion is committed in Lebak?”
Verbrugge made no reply.
“Answer me, Verbrugge!”
“I dare not.”
“Write down that you dare not.”
Verbrugge wrote it down. . . . it lies before me.
“Well, to proceed, you dare not answer the last question. You told me lately, when there was a question about poisoning, that you were the only support of your sisters at Batavia,—is that the reason of your fear, of what I always called your halfness?”
“Yes.”
Verbrugge wrote if down. . . . his declaration lies before me.
“That will do,” said Havelaar, “I know enough.” And Verbrugge left. Havelaar went out and played with little Max, whom he kissed very fervently. When Madam Slotering was gone, he sent away the child, and called in Tine.
“Dear Tine! I have a favour to ask you. I should like you and Max to go to Batavia:—to-day I accuse the Regent.”
She fell on his neck, for the first time opposed to his wishes, and cried, sobbing—
