“Well, Grey, my bairnie,” he said, as she kissed him affectionately, while, as soon as he had drawn back, he took out his broad kerchief to dab his brow, and seemed to wipe the kiss carefully away.
“You have news, father?” cried Grey, eagerly. “Pray speak!”
“Well, don’t hurry me, child,” he replied. “I’ve just come from the landing-stage—and I’ve seen that Malay fellow, Syed—and he says the expedition is coming back.”
“Coming back, father? Oh! why did you not speak before?”
“Syed has just come down with the stream. The water’s low and they’ve got aground a few miles up, but they expected to be afloat soon.”
“But is anyone hurt, father? Have they found Helen? Pray—pray speak!”
“Only a few of the men a bit hurt, it seems. Officers all right,” said the old man, speaking very coolly, and consequently in excellent English.
“But Helen? Have they found Helen?”
“It seems not, from what the fellow knew,” said the merchant, coolly. “Where’s Mrs Bolter?” he said, in a low voice.
Grey’s heart seemed to stand still. “Oh! father!” she sighed, “is he hurt?”