Still she made no sign whatever of having heard, except that her convulsive sobbing subsided a little. Unbearably wrung by her suffering, Lang knelt down impulsively and put his arm over her shoulders.
“Don’t grieve so, for God’s sake!” he said. “I’ll help you—everything I can do. Have courage! Your father can’t be drowned.”
She did not move from him; in fact she seemed to nestle into his protective arm. She grew quieter, presently turned her head, and sat up.
“Do you think there’s any—any hope?” she stammered, looking at him helplessly.
It was no time for truth. Lang lied boldly.
“Every chance. There were boats out at once. Your father is most likely ashore now.”
He had a vivid mental picture of the semiparalyzed man on that dark deck, as the Cavite plunged bows down. He shuddered, but Eva seemed encouraged, and spoke more collectedly.
“Oh, I hope it may be so!” she said. “I won’t give up, yet. Couldn’t I telegraph to all the places where he might have come ashore?
“But—but,” she faltered, shaky again, “to think that I hadn’t seen him at all for nearly a year! Father and I were always such friends and comrades. My mother died years ago. We two were everything—just all each other had. I let him keep me up North at college when I should have been with him. But he was away on his expeditions so much. He built this house for us to live in; we made plans for our life here, and he was just beginning to get credit for the great work he’d done—for all his exploration in South America—and now, to have it cut off—it leaves all the world empty. But it can’t be; he can’t be drowned!”
“Of course not!” Lang cried. “Nobody could have missed being picked up on that sea. Why, it’s almost like a crowded street, with ships. We’ll telegraph to all the ports, as you said. Good idea! I think you’d better go back to Mobile with me. I’ve got a car down the road. You can’t stay alone here.”