“Well, sir,” the captain said, coming up, “may I again ask what you want with us?”
“You talk to him, Ahmed,” Horace said in Greek. “We will run below;” and at a bound he was at the top of the companion and sprang down into the cabin. “Father,” he shouted, “are you here?”
The door of the main cabin opened, and a Turk with a flowing white beard made his appearance.
“My dear father, is it you?”
“Why, Horace, Horace, my dear boy, where do you come from, what miracle is this?” And in a moment they were clasped in each other’s arms. A moment later a tall Nubian rushed out and seized Horace’s hand.
“Why, Martyn, you don’t mean to say it is you in this disguise?”
“It is indeed, Horace. I am delighted to see you, lad; and you too, doctor. I had never thought to clap eyes on you again;” and he shook hands heartily with Macfarlane, as also did Mr. Beveridge.
“I seem to be in a dream,” the latter said; “how do you come here, what has happened?”
“I may say the same, father; but first, where are Miller, Tarleton, and the crew?”