Mr Perowne looked at him so reproachfully that the old Scot paused and then turned uneasily away.
“Poor wretch!” he muttered; “he has trouble eneuch—enough I mean.”
“Ah! Harley, what news?” cried Mr Perowne.
“None as yet,” was the reply.
“Have you sent out boats?”
“Yes, eight; and let us hope that they will discover something.”
“But you do not think they will?”
The Resident was silent.
“Harley here thinks that the Rajah is at the bottom of it all,” said the doctor.
“Impossible!” cried the unhappy father. “He was here when she was missed, or I might have suspected him. I fear it is something worse than even that.”