CHAPTER THIRTY.
WHAT WILL BECOME OF HER?
It would be impossible to paint the despair that wrung her brother's heart, as he stood with upturned face and eyes bent upon a scene in which he had no longer the power to take part.
Not much less intense was the agonised emotion of Murtagh; for little Helen was almost as dear to the Irishman as if she had been his own daughter.
Neither could have any other thought than that the child was lost beyond hope of recovery.

She would either be torn to pieces by the claws of the monster, or by its great yellow teeth, already displayed to their view, and flung in mangled fragments to the ground.

They actually stood for some time in expectation of seeing this sad catastrophe; and it would be vain to attempt any description of their emotions.
It was no relief when the two hunters came up, as they did at that instant, on their return from the chase.

Their approach for the last two or three hundred yards had been hastened into a run by the shrieks of Helen and the shouts of Henry and Murtagh.

Their arrival only added two new figures to the tableau of distress, and two voices to its expression.
The ape could still be seen through the foliage ascending to the top of the tree; but Captain Redwood felt that the rifle he held in his hands, though sure of aim and fatal in effect, was of no more use than if it had been a piece of wood.
Saloo had the same feeling in regard to his blow-gun.