let's break down; we shall see, we shall see; only go back yourself.'
"'Indeed, I must.'
"'And say I am coming.'
"'Really and truly?'
"'One moment; I make no promises. I will do what I can; I can say no more.'
"'Farewell. I leave you in this hope.'
"'Farewell, dearest. We shall see some day.'
"'Yes, we shall see. . . . Farewell.'
"The Buchold gave me a last kiss, heaved another sigh, and left me.
"This last appearance of the Buchold had impressed me quite differently from her previous visits. Moreover, in comparison with the women of my native land, these Cingalese, Spanish, Malabar and Chinese beauties after all left something to be desired. So there was only poor Shimindra to counterbalance European influences; and she was only a slave-girl after all,—with a past.
"The net result was that I could think of nothing else but how to wind up my affairs and return to Europe as soon as possible.
"But, before leaving the East, I took care to provide for Shimindra's future. I left her my cigar business, which was in full activity, and what was left of my bezoar. True, this was diminished in size, but even so, it was well worth two or three thousand rupees,—the more so as its efficacy had been proved beyond a doubt.
"As for Vanly-Ching, she had utterly disappeared, carrying her money-box with her, and for the remaining five months I lived at Bedondo, not a word was heard of her.
"Finally, on the 15th of February, 1829, just about six years from the date of my first arrival in the Indies, I left Bedondo, after realising a sum of forty-five thousand francs, against which my Chinese correspondent gave me first-rate bills drawn upon some of the best firms in Amsterdam.
"The voyage was a long one, because of the calms we met with under the Equator. Six months after my departure from Manilla we sighted Cape Ushant, which we doubled, and entered the Channel, and at last, on the 16th of August, 1829, dropped anchor in the harbour of Rotterdam.
"There was nothing to delay me in that city, so the same day I took coach to Amsterdam, and on my arrival there engaged a boat to convey me to Monnikendam. It so happened it was my old friend the fisherman's, the same man who, six years and six months before, had rowed me aboad the Jean de Witte, who had not been able to get his fare paid, and who nevertheless had promised to drink my health, a promise which he had faithfully kept.
"This time, instead of a bag of pebbles, I had in my pocket a pocket-book containing a pretty little sum of forty-five thousand livres. So when I stepped ashore at Monnikendam, as I owed him not only for my last passage but for my first as well, together with interest and compound interest for more than six years, I gave him twenty-five florins—such a windfall as he had not had for many a day.
"Then I made ray way to my house. In the doorway I saw as I approached a nurse in mourning, suckling two infants—and I understood everything.
"I walked into the living-room on the ground floor, where my three boys and their sister were assembled. The three lads took to their heels when they saw me. As for their little sister, as she could not yet walk alone, she had to stay where she was.
"I realised I was merely a stranger in the eyes of these poor innocents; I picked up my little Margaret in my arms, who promptly began to scream at the top of her voice, and made for the door again, intending to make myself known to some neighbour or other.
"But at that moment Simon Van Groot, hearing that a stranger had arrived and gone in the direction of the Buchold's house, and guessing how things were, arrived on the spot; he had rallied the three flying lads, and was also accompanied by the wet-nurse and her two charges.
"In a moment everything was explained.
"'And the poor Buchold?' I asked.
"'You have come two months too late, my dear Olifus,' Simon Van Groot replied. 'The Buchold died in giving birth to your twins.'
"'Ah! yes, Simon and Jude.'
"'Precisely. In your absence, I looked after the family. The creditors had sold the house and furniture. I redeemed
