A heavy sigh rose from one occupant of the cabin, a deep groan from another, but not a word of opposition came from either of the elders; and the next minute the men forward were busy rolling up the mats and unmooring the boat, while two crept along outside the cabin to take their oars.
It was still intensely dark, for the matting at the cabin sides had not been rolled up, and Mr. Kenyon sat trying to whisper a few words of comfort to the doctor, who seemed completely prostrated by the news, when the former felt a hand laid upon his arm, and he started slightly, for in the black darkness he had not noticed that some one had drawn near.
"You are not very angry with me, father?" was whispered.
"Angry with you, my boy? No."
"Nor with me, Mr. Kenyon?"
"Nor yet with you, Phra, my dear lad. No. You made me feel very, very proud; but I think that I ought not to let you run such risks."
"God bless you both, boys, for what you have said," groaned the doctor. "Boys? No; you spoke like men, while I sit here feeling weak and helpless as a child. But I shall be better soon—in a few minutes I shall be a man once more, and we must all talk, and plan, and scheme. For Phra is right; it must be done with cunning, as we are so weak. Now please leave me to myself for a few minutes. First tell me, though, are we going back?"
"Yes," said Harry, after looking out between the mats; "the boat is steadily going with the stream. The other is floating yonder."
The doctor drew a deep breath.
"Hah!" he said; "that has taken a weight from my breast. Going back—going to the rescue. Heaven help us! Shall we be too late?"