He did not wait to complete the sentence, but followed the old man, who was already walking back. They came to a narrow ravine, which wound away into the hillside towards the river, always at a steep descent. Passing along it, they came after some minutes to a well-built akoi, around which several skins lay drying. The man led Lawrence to the entrance, and motioned to him to go in.
The lad's heart was beating tumultuously. He paused a moment at the low opening, shrinking lest what he was about to see were a culminating spectacle of woe. In the middle of the tent there was a fire, the smoke of which passed out through a hole in the dome-shaped roof. Crushing down his agitation, he stepped in, his tread falling noiseless on a floor of thick skin rugs. Just beyond the fire lay the still form of a man. Holding his breath, Lawrence bent down, and looked upon the face of his uncle, asleep.
Though his footsteps had been silent, the fact of his presence seemed to penetrate the consciousness of the sleeping man. He opened his eyes.
"Ah, Lawrence," he said, "what is this I hear about great guns?"
Lawrence could not speak. He clasped his uncle's hand, and felt with a kind of surprise that it was warm as his own.
"Poor old boy! I expect you've had a bad time," Mr. Appleton went on. "But I couldn't let you know that I was all right."
"I can hardly believe it. It seems too good to be true. We'd long ago given you up."
"Long ago! Why, goodness alive! how long have I been here then?"
And then Lawrence remembered that it was only a fortnight since that unlucky pursuit of Nurla Bai.
"It seems an age," he said. "But how splendid it is, Uncle! Bob and everybody will be simply wild with delight. You're not ill, are you?" he asked, noticing that his uncle remained flat on his back.