“What is it, and then I will tell you?”
“That all the people you have with you are brave. Lady Helena, whom I love so, and the Major, with his calm manner, and Captain Mangles, and Monsieur Paganel, and all the sailors on the DUNCAN. How courageous and devoted they are.”
“Yes, my boy, I know that,” replied Glenarvan.
“And do you know that you are the best of all.”
“No, most certainly I don’t know that.”
“Well, it is time you did, my Lord,” said the boy, seizing his lordship’s hand, and covering it with kisses.
Glenarvan shook his head, but said no more, as a gesture from Thalcave made them spur on their horses and hurry forward.
But it was soon evident that, with the exception of Thaouka, the wearied animals could not go quicker than a walking pace. At noon they were obliged to let them rest for an hour. They could not go on at all, and refused to eat the ALFAFARES, a poor, burnt-up sort of lucerne that grew there.
Glenarvan began to be uneasy. Tokens of sterility were not the least on the decrease, and the want of water might involve serious calamities. Thalcave said nothing, thinking probably, that it would be time enough to despair if the Guamini should be dried up—if, indeed, the heart of an Indian can ever despair.
Spur and whip had both to be employed to induce the poor animals to resume the route, and then they only crept along, for their strength was gone.