He held out his arms for Becky; and Mrs. Orban rose and went as if she were dreaming, leaving him standing there with the baby.
It was a very long time before Peter knew that he wanted his mother. Terror and the exposure in the water for so many hours had done their work, and even when the little fellow recovered consciousness he was too ill to realize anything at all.
Every one was very kind to the Orbans. The poor lady who had lost her husband took entire charge of Becky; other fellow-passengers offered to help with Peter, who needed nursing night and day. The survivors from the wreck clung together, and found some comfort in helping each other. The people of the station were very attentive and good; but the relief party from Cooktown was hailed with thankfulness, for there were of course many discomforts and unpleasantnesses. The blacks had a disagreeable habit of prowling about in the night and peeping at their guests as they tried to sleep in the impromptu hammocks. The food was coarse and monotonous; the men rough, and uncouth in their ways.
When Eustace saw his father he felt a great burden lifted from his shoulders; his powerlessness to help his mother did not matter any more; no one could comfort her like his father. Then there was Bob; he would help the whole family to keep up in his usual splendid way!
Fortunately Mr. Orban and Bob had not yet left Cooktown when the news of the disaster arrived. They hastened to the bêche-de-mer station on getting Mrs. Orban's message, without the least knowledge whom they would find of their own party; and after the first explanations were over, no one could speak of the cloud shadowing the joy of meeting. To Eustace's infinite surprise, Bob, to whom he had looked for so much, failed him utterly—he could not rouse himself, let alone other people.
The survivors of the wrecked Cora were carried by steamer to Cooktown, and Mr. Orban took his family to the best hotel, for no plans could be made till Peter was better.
Alone with Eustace, Nesta gave vent to her feelings very often.
"Eustace," she said, "wasn't it queer Aunt Dorothy saying the very day before we left she didn't feel a bit as if we were going to England? Do you remember?"
Eustace replied with a kind of grunt. He had not words for every emotion as Nesta had.
"And it seems so horrid," she proceeded chokily, "to know nothing about what happened to her or even how it happened. If only some one could tell us!"