CHAPTER XIV.

THE SOUND OF FIRING.

Jack Everson was hardly less impatient than the doctor over the
obstinacy of their lately made friends. He reminded them that the
physician had spent a score of years in that part of the world, with
which he was so familiar that his judgment ought to outweigh theirs,
but the argument was useless. They had decided to stick to the boat
that had served them so well and could not be dissuaded. Their plan,
as they had intimated, now that they found they could go little further
up stream, was to descend to the Ganges, with a view of working their
way down to some of the cities, where they hoped to find the English
had succeeded in holding out against the mutineers.

Could this be done, and could such a haven be reached, all would be
well, but the doctor assured them they were leaning upon a broken reed.
When it became evident that all persuasions were useless the parties
separated. A common peril had brought them near to one another and it
was impossible that that they should part except as friends. All felt
the solemnity of the hour. Each wife kissed and embraced Mary Marlowe,
and like her shed tears at what they felt was probably the final
parting, so far as this world was concerned. The men warmly shook
hands and there was more than one tremulous voice when the three passed
over the side of the boat and said farewell.

The latter walked some distance through the jungle, which was so dense