But what hurt him most was . . . that he did not remember things. It was as though daily the twilight deepened around him, around his soul, which shuddered in his chilly, shuddering body. One day, Constance said:
"We have good news from Nunspeet. . . ."
But Gerrit remembered nothing about Nunspeet; still he did not wish to show it:
"Really?" he said.
Nevertheless she saw it in his blank look.
"Yes," she continued, "Ernst is a great deal better. I shall go and see him again to-morrow."
He now remembered all about Ernst and Nunspeet, but yet he was ashamed of his recent lack of memory and his hollow cheeks almost flushed. . . .
A week later, Ernst came to see him, with Constance. He was so much improved that the doctor himself had advised him to go to the Hague for a few days; he was staying with the Van der Welckes. His hallucinations had almost vanished; and, when Gerrit saw him, it struck Gerrit that Ernst was looking better, his complexion healthier, probably through the outdoor life, his hair and beard trimmed; and his eyes were not so restless, while he himself was neatly dressed, under his sister's care.
"Well, old chap," said Gerrit, "so you've come to look me up? . . . That's nice of you. . . . I'm a bit off colour. And you . . . ?"
