Dr. Deacon looked at him fixedly for a moment, and reading the truth in his countenance, murmured, "He is gone!"
"Yes, he has escaped the malice of his enemies," said Dr. Byrom.
"Heaven's will be done!" ejaculated Dr. Deacon, with a look of profound resignation. "Truly I have need of fortitude to bear the weight of affliction laid upon me. Robert!—my dear, brave son!—gone!—gone!"
"Be comforted, my good friend," said Dr. Byrom, in accents of profound sympathy. "His troubles are over."
"True," replied the other. "But the blow has well-nigh stunned me. Give me a chair, I pray you."
As Dr. Byrom complied, he remarked:
"I ought to have broken this sad news to you with greater care—and, indeed, I hesitated to mention it."
"You have acted most kindly—most judiciously—like the friend you have ever shown yourself," rejoined Dr. Deacon. "All is for the best, I doubt not. But when I think of my dear boy Robert, my heart is like to burst. He was so kind, so gallant, so loyal, so true."
"He has been removed from a world of misery," said Dr. Byrom. "Reflection, I am sure, will reconcile you to his fate, sad as it now may seem."
"I have misjudged myself," said Dr. Deacon. "When I sent forth my three sons on this expedition, I thought I was prepared for any eventuality, but I now find I was wrong. One I have already lost—the other two will follow quickly."