"Amen!" said Bullard, in clear tones.

Lancaster took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

Still gazing at the loch, Christopher continued--

"I will speak of the living--my nephew, Alan." He lifted his hand as
though to check a contradiction. "I am well aware that you believe him
dead, and I cannot get away from the fact that the wretched
twopence-ha'penny expedition came home without him. But no member could
assert that he was dead--only that he was lost, missing; and though I
shall not live to see it, I will die in the firm belief of his return
within a year."

For once Bullard seemed to have nothing to say, and doubtless he was
surprised to hear his colleague's voice stammer--

"If you could give me any grounds for your belief, Christopher--"

"Men have been lost in the Arctic before now, and have not died."

"But Alan, poor fellow, was alone."

"He had his gun and some food. As you know, he was hunting with a man
named Flitch when they got separated in a sudden fog."

"And all search proved vain," said Bullard.

"True. But there was an Eskimo encampment within a day's march," retorted
Christopher, mildly.