"Father," he said, "I am your son, Dick."
The sailor gazed at him with a stupefied air.
"Are you mad, or am I?" he said hoarsely.
"Neither of us, Father. I am disguised as an old man, but really I am little more than eighteen. I have been searching for you for more than two years, and, thank God, I have found you at last;" and, bursting into tears, Dick would have thrown his arms round his father's neck, but the latter pushed him off with one hand, and held him at arm's distance, while his other hand plucked at his own throat, as if to loosen something that was choking him.
"It can't be true," he muttered to himself. "I am dreaming this. I shall wake presently, and you will be gone."
"It is quite true, Father. Mother is down at Tripataly, waiting for me to bring you to her."
With a hoarse cry the sailor reeled, and would have fallen, had not Dick caught him and allowed him to sink gradually to the ground; where he lay, half supported by one of the bales. Dick ran to one of the saddlebags, where he carried a flask of brandy in case of emergencies, poured some into a cup, and held it to his father's lips. The sailor gasped.
"It is brandy," he said suddenly. "I can't have dreamt that."
Then he broke into a violent sobbing. Dick knelt by his side, and took his hand.
"It is assuredly no dream, Father," he said gently. "I am really your son, Dick. I am here with a trusty friend, and now we have found you, you may be sure that we will, in some way, manage your escape. There is no time, now, to tell you all that has happened. That I can do, afterwards. All that is important for you to know, is, that Mother is quite well. She has never given up hope, and has always insisted that you were alive, for she said that she should surely have known, if you had died. So she taught me her language, until I could speak like a native; and two years and a half ago, she came out here with me.