from experience the consummate
tact which women are wont to exercise in the breaking of bad news, and
he resolved forthwith to delegate to his wife the task to which he had
been looking forward with so much mental perturbation. So, as soon as
he reached his wife's side, he said hastily:

"Look here, Rose dear, you need not be alarmed. With the exception of
being frightened very nearly out of her wits, poor child, there is
nothing wrong with Lucille; she has swooned with terror, but I can soon
put her all right again. The Malays, however, have landed on the
island; and I am dreadfully afraid they have got Gaunt and poor little
Percy, but we can know nothing for certain until the return of Manners
and Nicholls, who have gone forward to reconnoitre. There is no time
now to enter into particulars--they can be told by and by; but poor Mrs
Gaunt is certain to inquire presently for her husband and child, so I
want you to go to her _now_--leave Lucille to me; take her to her own
room, and break to her as gently as possible what I have just told you,
laying stress at the same time upon the fact that we _know_ nothing
certainly as yet, and that matters may turn out much better than we
apprehend. Look! there she is. Now go to her and be as gentle with her
as you can."

Full of sympathy, Mrs Henderson at this hurried away upon her painful
errand; whilst her husband, as soon as the coast was clear, made his way
down to his own room with the unconscious Lucille.

Arrived there, he laid the child upon her bed, and then opened the
compact medicine chest which, on leaving England, he had happily taken
the precaution of adding to his personal outfit, and this done he
forthwith set about the task of restoration.

The task proved more difficult and of longer duration than he had
anticipated; and before success rewarded his efforts his wife rejoined
him, in tears.

"Well," he said nervously, and without desisting a moment from his
occupation, "how have you managed?"

"Oh, Duncan!" sobbed Mrs Henderson, "it was dreadful! Poor dear Ida is
quite prostrated with grief and terror, though she did, and is still
doing, her best to bear up under the awful agony of suspense. Fancy,
dearest, both husband and child--oh, it is horrible! Can _nothing_ be
done to save them?"

"Nothing, just now, I fear," was the gloomy response. "You see there
are but three fighting men of us now, and we do not know how many of the
enemy there are. It