“Hilton? Oh, ay, he’s all well! Hang it if here isn’t that Barlow woman! I left her at the landing-place pumping Syed.”
As he finished speaking, Mrs Barlow, panting, hot, and excited, half ran into the room.
“No news—no news of poor Mr Rosebury!” she cried; “but oh, my dear Mrs Bolter—my dear Mrs Bolter!”
“What is it—what is it?” cried that lady, opening the door, and entering the room, trembling visibly. “You’ve brought me some terrible news! I know you have! Speak to me—speak directly!”
“Yes, yes, my dear: but try and bear it with fortitude.”
“Yes, I will,” she panted. “My brother—is dead!”
“No, no,” sobbed Mrs Barlow; “there is no news of him; but the Malay has told me all!”
“All? All what?” cried Mrs Bolter.
“They found Doctor Bolter at the Inche Maida’s.”
“I knew it!” cried Mrs Bolter, excitedly.