Dead Man's Land / Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain blacks and whites - George Manville Fenn

“No, father,” said Mark, “I am too ill and weak to do the talking. Dean will say all I want.”

“Well, Dean, boy,” said Sir James; “speak out frankly. Do you think we ought to stay here, as perhaps we safely might after the lessons the natives have had?”

“No, uncle, I don’t; and if the place were a hundred times as tempting as it is I would give up all the curios and the gold sooner than you should run such a risk again.”

“Hear, hear, hear!” cried Mark. “But don’t think me a coward, doctor, for turning faint-hearted like this.”

“You needn’t be afraid of that,” said the doctor quietly. “What I want to hear is your father’s definite opinion upon the question.”

“Well, I will give it to you,” said Sir James gravely. “As an elderly man who wishes to act wisely, I cannot help feeling that we are intruders in the country of these wild tribes, and we should never be safe.”

He paused for a few moments, and his hearers exchanged glances. Then he continued, “Speaking now as your father, Mark, my boy—as your uncle, Dean—I feel that I should not be justified in running any more risks; and lastly, as an old man who wants to behave generously and well to our servants, and those who have risked so much for our sake, I am,” he continued, with a twinkle in his eye, “very, very tired; old England was never so dear to me before. There, doctor—there, my dear boys, I want to go home!”

Memorandum: They went home.