“No, no, old fellow,” cried Dallas; “it is all true. Uncle was never so strange to me before. It was because you had been to him first. It is wonderful. Your voice is so changed I did not know it, and in the darkness I never saw your face.”
“Yes—delirious,” croaked Abel. “They say it is so before death.”
“Nonsense, nonsense, lad! I came back just in time to save you, and now we have been saved, too, from a horrible death. After a bit we shall be stronger, and shall be able to see which way to begin tunnelling our way out to life again. Cheer up; we have got through the worst, and as soon as we are free we’ll join hands and work together, so that we can show them at home that we have not come out in vain. How are you now?”
A low rumbling utterance was the reply, and Dallas leaned towards him, feeling startled.
“Don’t you hear me?” he cried. “Why don’t you answer?”
“Dear old Dal—to begin dreaming of him now,” came in a low muttering.
“No, no; I tell you that it is all true.”
“All right, uncle,” croaked Abel. “Not an hour longer than it takes to scrape together enough. Ha, ha, ha! and I thought you so hard and brutal to me. Eh? But you’re not. It was a dreadful take in. I say!”
“Yes, yes, old fellow. What?”
“Don’t say a word to dear old Dal. Let him stop and take care of aunt, and let them think I’ve shuffled out of the trouble. I’ll show them when I come back.”