"Paper—third e'shen—loss of the Sco-sha."
Faster and faster I hurried along. But the awful cry was always ringing in my ears, behind, before, and on either side.
When I reached our boarding-house my limbs could scarcely support me. I had hardly strength enough to pull the bell. And before our young waiter had opened the door two news men, crossing the square, were crying:
"Paper—third edition—reported loss of the 'Scotia.'"
EIGHTY-THIRD CHAPTER
As I passed through the hall the old colonel and the old clergyman were standing by the dining-room door. They were talking excitedly, and while I was going upstairs, panting hard and holding on by the handrail, I heard part of their conversation.
"Scotia was the name of the South Pole ship, wasn't it?"
"Certainly it was. We must send young John out for a paper."
Reaching my room I dropped into my chair. My faculties had so failed me that for some minutes I was unable to think. Presently my tired brain recalled the word "Reported" and to that my last hope began to cling as a drowning sailor clings to a drifting spar.