“Yes, my dear, I hear,” said the doctor; “but I cannot say that you are right. It’s as puzzling as the real site of Ophir; but I hope it will all come right in the end.”
Suspicious as Mrs Bolter felt, she did not show her feelings, but joined in the conversation; and she was obliged to own that the conduct of the Inche Maida seemed to be quite that of an English lady eager to help her friends in a terrible time of trial.
In the midst of the conversation that ensued there was the sound of voices outside, and the Resident, closely followed by Mr Perowne and the Rajah, hurried out to see if there was any news.
One of the sergeants, with a private of Hilton’s company, had just arrived on the lawn, these being two of the men who had gone down the river in a sampan.
“Ah! Harris,” exclaimed the Resident, eagerly, on seeing something in the sergeant’s face which told of tidings, “what news?”
The sergeant glanced at Mr Perowne in rather a troubled manner, and hesitated.
“Speak out, my man, for Heaven’s sake!” exclaimed the latter, “and let me know the worst.”
“It mayn’t be the worst, sir,” replied the sergeant, with rough sympathy. “I hope it isn’t, sir; but we found a boat, sir—one of our own boats—left by the ‘Penguin’ for our use at the island.”
“Yes—yes, I know!” exclaimed Mr Perowne.
“Quick! speak out, Harris. What of her?” cried the Resident.