It is I, your own little girl given back to you.

Oh dear! Oh dear! I cannot see you for my tears." They had some difficulty to keep him in the boat, and the man pulling stroke smashed a stout oar with the next wrench.
And so they met at last, and the sailors left them alone, to crowd round Anstruther and ply him with a hundred questions.

Although he fell in with their humor, and gradually pieced together the stirring story which was supplemented each instant by the arrival of disconsolate Dyaks and the comments of the men who returned from cave and beach, his soul was filled with the sight of Iris and her father, and the happy, inconsequent demands with which each sought to ascertain and relieve the extent of the other's anxiety.
Then Iris called to him-- "Robert, I want you." The use of his Christian name created something akin to a sensation.
Sir Arthur Deane was startled, even in his immeasurable delight at finding his child uninjured--the picture of rude health and happiness.
Anstruther advanced.
"This is my father," she cried, shrill with joy.

"And, father darling, this is Captain Robert Anstruther, to whom alone, under God's will, I owe my life, many, many times since the moment the _Sirdar_ was lost." It was no time for questioning.

Sir Arthur Deane took off his hat and held out his hand-- "Captain Anstruther," he said, "as I owe you my daughter's life, I owe you that which I can never repay.