Explore "The Free Fishers" by John Buchan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
But it was not the unexpected sight of the Chief Fisher that held Nanty's eyes. In Nickson's elbow-chair, an ancient thing of oak padded with sheep skin, sat a pale young man with a bandaged forehead. In a second he was on his knees beside him.
"Harry, my dear Harry," he cried. "God be praised that I have found you. You are ill? You are wounded?"