‘It is no business of mine,’ said Raphael. ‘Come, Bran!’
The girl sprang up, threw herself at his feet, kissed his hands, called him her saviour, her deliverer, sent by God.
‘Not in the least, my child. You must thank my teacher the dog, not me.’
And she took him at his word, and threw her soft arms round Bran’s Deck; and Bran understood it, and wagged her tail, and licked the gentle face lovingly.
‘Intolerably absurd, all this!’ said Raphael. ‘I must be going, Bran.’
‘You will not leave us? You surely will not leave an old man to die here?’
‘Why not? What better thing could happen to him?’
‘Nothing,’ murmured the officer, who had not spoken before.
‘Ah, God! he is my father!’
‘Well?’