Grey raised her creamy-white sunshade that she had allowed to hang by her side, and as the doctor finished counting the throbs of her pulse, he drew her hand through his arm, patted it into position and then walked slowly on by her side. "Nature says, my dear, that we must not fret and worry ourselves, because if we do we shall be ill." "Oh, yes, doctor," sighed Grey, with a pitiful look in her soft eyes, "but this passing away of day after day is dreadful. What are we to do?" "Wait, my dear, wait." "Wait!" cried Grey, whose eyes flashed for a moment. "Oh, if I were a man, I think I would find some means of discovering what has become of our friends." "Well, my little maiden, you are not a man, and are not likely to be," said the doctor, smiling; "but no doubt your advice may be good, though your action might be weak. Now, then, tell me--what would you do if you were a man?" "I would send out parties to search," cried Grey, indignantly. "Who knows where our poor friends may be!" "Ah, who knows, my dear inconsiderate little friend?" said the doctor, quietly. "Now, don't you know that for nearly a month past Harley has had, not parties, but single men--natives--out in search of information about our friends?" "No," said Grey, "I did not know that." "No, you did not know that, my dear, but he has, and without the slightest success, although he has promised a heavy reward for any valuable information." "It is very good of Mr Harley, and I beg his pardon," sighed Grey. "And I take upon myself to say that the pardon is granted," said the doctor. "And now, my dear, I suppose you think that this is not enough, but that we--I mean Harley--ought to send out soldiers?" "Yes, I have thought so," said Grey, hesitatingly. "Hah! yes, I suppose so; but it has never occurred to you, my dear, I daresay, that in this jungle-covered country, where the rivers are the only roads, the passage of soldiers, with the stores they require, is a terribly difficult affair." "I fear it would be," said Grey; "but the case is so urgent, doctor." "Terribly urgent, my dear; but like some of the urgent cases with which I have to deal, I have to do all I can, and then leave the rest to nature. Let us hope, my dear, that nature will work a cure for us here, and that one of these days they will all turn up again alive and well." "Oh, doctor, do you think so?" cried Grey, who was ready to cling to the slightest straw of promise. "I don't say that I think so," he replied, "I say I hope so." Grey sighed. "There, there, there, I forbid it," said the doctor, with assumed anger. "We cannot have you fretting yourself ill, my dear, for we want your help. My little wife could not get on at all without you to cheer and comfort her; and I believe if it were not for you poor Perowne would go distraught. Then there's your father, who looks upon you as the one object of his life; and lastly, there's your doctor."