passed anxious days after the Resident’s visit. I believe it is unnecessary to sketch the torturing fear of a mother who, in giving food to her child, has continually to put to herself the question whether perhaps she is murdering her darling. And truly he was a “prayed-for” child, little Max, who had tarried in coming for seven years after the marriage, as though the rogue knew that it was not exactly an advantage to come into the world as the son of such parents!
Twenty-nine long days Havelaar had to wait before the Governor-General informed him . . . but we are not yet so far.
Shortly after the vain efforts to persuade Havelaar to take back his letters, or to betray the poor people who had trusted in his magnanimity. Verbrugge one day came into his room. The good man was deadly pale, and found it difficult to speak.
“I have been to see the Regent,” he said . . . “this is infamous . . . but do not betray me.”
“What? What is it I am not to betray?”
“Will you give me your word that you won’t use what I shall say to you?”
“Again halfness,” said Havelaar. “But . . . very well! I give my word.”
And then Verbrugge stated what is already known to the reader, that the Resident had asked the Adhipatti whether he had any complaints to make against the Assistant-Resident, and had also quite unexpectedly offered and given him money. Verbrugge had it from the Regent himself, who asked him what reasons could have moved the Resident to this action. Havelaar was indignant, but . . . he had given his word.
The next day Verbrugge returned, and said that Duclari had pointed out to him how ignoble it was to leave Havelaar, who had to fight such opponents, so entirely alone, and Verbrugge therefore came to release him of his word.
“Very well,” Havelaar exclaimed, “write it down!”
Verbrugge wrote it down. This declaration also lies before me.
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