I was myself lost, and have been all this time finding my way.

I succeeded by following back my own trail, else we might never have met again.

O Francois! poor brother Francois! what will become of _him_ ?" Lucien now shared the apprehensions as well as the agony of his brother.
Up to this time he had been under the impression that they had got together, and something had detained them--perhaps the breaking of a stirrup-leather or a girth, he knew not what--and he was just beginning to grow uneasy when Basil made his appearance.

He knew not what it was to be lost; but Basil's wild explanations enabled him to conceive what it _might be_; and he could well appreciate the situation of Francois.
It was no time, however, to indulge in paroxysms of grief.

He saw that Basil was half unmanned; the more so because the latter looked upon himself as the cause of the misfortune.