They turned their boats at sunset homeward; and, as the twilight began to creep from its hiding place in the East, Clarence begged Dora to sing them a song of her gypsy exile.
The clear, pure voice—the sweeter, the more pathetic, doubtless, for all Dora’s long days of suffering—rose and added its beauty to the splendors of the dying day. Dora had just finished “Mother Dear, O Pray for Me,” and at the request of all, was about to begin another hymn, when Will Benton cried out:
“Look: there’s a boat making for us from Smith’s Creek. I believe it’s the Campion.”
“So it is,” cried Rieler, keen of eye. “And Father Rector’s in it. And——”
Suddenly a scream of joy rang from Dora’s throat.
“Oh! oh!” she cried. “It’s mama and papa!”
CHAPTER XIX
In which John Rieler fails to finish his great speech, and Clarence is seriously frightened.
There were, as the two boats came together, shouts and joyous cries and a quick interchange of crews. Dora was in the arms of father and mother. Laughter and tears—the tears of strong emotion—were intermingled with incoherent sobs. Feelings were beyond the power of human language.
It was then, in the midst of all this, that Master John Rieler, filled with an enthusiasm which could no longer be bottled up, mounted the prow of the boat, of which he had that day been the happy engineer, and raising his cap aloft, bellowed at the top of his voice: