They found the chief at a late breakfast. He looked up without rising when they were announced.
“Ha! my worthy Hebrew—is it thou? What news of my child? Have you heard of her whereabouts?”
“Not yet, sir,” answered Beniah with a look of intense perplexity. “But I had thought that—that is, by this time—”
“What! no news?” cried the chief, springing up in fierce ire, and dropping the chop with which he had been engaged. “Did you not say that you felt sure you would hear of her from your friend? Is this the friend that you spoke of?”
He turned a keen look of inquiry, with not a little admiration in it, on Bladud.
“This is indeed he,” answered Beniah, “and I have—but, but did not a lad—a fair youth—visit your camp yesterday?”
“No—no lad came near the camp yesterday,” answered the chief gruffly.
Here was cause for wonder, both for the Hebrew and the prince.
“Forgive me, sir,” said the latter, with a deferential air that greatly pleased the warrior, “forgive me if I venture to intrude my own troubles on one whose anxiety must needs be greater, but this youth left my hut yesterday to visit you, saying that he knew you well, and if he has not arrived some evil must have befallen him, for the distance he had to traverse was very short.”
“That is sad,” returned the chief in a tone of sympathy, “for he must either have been caught by robbers, or come by an accident on the way. Did you not follow his footsteps as you came along?”