“Oh, my child! you must not take it thus. There is good reason to believe that your friend is living, and will yet return.”
“Did any one see them fall?” she asked, in a voice so calm that it was frightful.
“Not at all. Gavoon, who was killed, was seen when shot, as were most of the others; but no one noticed our friend.”
“Then there is hope!”
“To be sure—to be sure. Moffat is very skillful, they say, in savage ways, and has been delivered from so many dreadful dangers that it can hardly be supposed with reason that he has not escaped from this.”
“But why do they remain so long away?”
“Many reasons might detain them of which we know nothing, child. I have by no means given up hope, and I think it is not wrong for me to encourage you in hoping for the best.”
“I will try,” she remarked, faintly, as she arose and went to her room, where she might indulge her sorrow in secret.
The good minister had arisen to depart, when Mrs. Stuart hurried into the apartment.
“Ah! how do you do, sister?” he exclaimed, extending his hand.