“They are coming, they are coming!” she cried.
All bent to listen: yes, they could hear the gallop of horses at a distance. The sound came nearer, increasing in intensity, then ceased abruptly, and the next moment Archag and Aram burst into the room.
They were received with cries and exclamations of joy. Hanna badgi was too much overcome to speak, and Archag had to tell the story of their adventure immediately. Holding his mother’s hand, he gave a full account of their return trip, accusing himself, with Aram, of having caused the death of Ibrahim, by their rashness.
Boghos Effendi had known the old sailor well; he had had many a chat with him on the shore of the lake, and was much distressed by the tale of his death.
“You are almost grown men,” said he sternly, “but you act like children. If you had listened to the poor old man, we should not be lamenting his death now. You are well punished, and I hope this accident will teach you a lesson.” The two boys hung their heads in silence, for they knew that this reproof was well deserved.
They did justice to their dinner, after which Gulenia ordered them off to bed. In vain they protested that they were feeling perfectly well; the old woman would not listen to a word, and they had to obey, half in jest, half in vexation. Gulenia had been a servant in the family of Hanna badgi, and upon the marriage of her young mistress, had gone with her to her new home. She had a heart of gold hidden beneath her sullen countenance, and always retained a partiality for Archag, whom she had once nursed through diphtheria. Hanna badgi, who was often ill, intrusted her with all the household care.
When the boys were in bed, the old woman brought them two bowls of steaming broth.
“Drink this, my lambs,” said she, “and to-morrow you will be better than ever.”
“Pouah!” said Aram, “your tea isn’t as sweet as your name[2] (Rose). What is this horrid stuff you are giving us?”
“Hold your tongue, and drink it while it’s hot.”