Austin was now bewildered. Glenarvan spoke with such assurance, that he feared he had made a mistake in reading the letter. Could he, faithful and accurate sailor that he was, have committed such a blunder? He began to feel troubled.

"Be easy, Tom," said Lady Helena. "Providence has decreed——"

"No, madam, pardon me," returned the sailor; "no, it is not possible! I am not mistaken. Ayrton also read the letter, and he, on the contrary, wished to go to Australia."

"Ayrton?" cried Glenarvan.

"The very one. He maintained that it was a mistake, and that you had appointed Twofold Bay as the place of meeting."

"Have you the letter, Tom?" asked the major, greatly puzzled.

"Yes, Mr. MacNabb," replied Austin. "I will soon bring it."

He accordingly repaired to his own cabin. While he was gone, they gazed at each other in silence, except the major, who, with his eye fixed upon Paganel, said, as he folded his arms:

"Indeed, I must confess, Paganel, that this is a little too much."

At this moment Austin returned. He held in his hand the letter written by Paganel, and signed by Glenarvan.

"Read it, my lord," said the old sailor.

Glenarvan took the letter, and read:

"Order for Tom Austin to put to sea, and bring the Duncan to the eastern coast of New Zealand."

"New Zealand?" cried Paganel, starting.

He snatched the letter from Glenarvan's hands, rubbed his eyes, adjusted his spectacles to his nose, and read in his turn.

"New Zealand!" repeated he, in an indescribable tone, while the letter slipped from his fingers.

Just then he felt a hand fall upon his shoulder. He turned, and found himself face to face with the major.

"Well, my good Paganel," said MacNabb, in a grave tone, "it is fortunate that you did not send the Duncan to Cochin-China."

This sally finished the poor geographer. A fit of laughter seized the whole crew. Paganel, as if mad, ran to and fro, holding his head in his hands, and tearing his hair. However, when he had recovered from his frenzy, there was still another unavoidable question to answer.

"Now, Paganel," said Glenarvan, "be candid. I acknowledge that your absent-mindedness has been providential. To be sure, without you the Duncan would have fallen into the hands of the convicts; without you we should have been recaptured by the Maoris. But do tell me, what strange association of ideas, what unnatural aberration, induced you to write New Zealand instead of Australia?"

"Very well," said Paganel. "It was——"

But at that moment his eyes fell upon Robert and Mary Grant, and he stopped short, finally replying:

"Never mind, my dear Glenarvan. I am a madman, a fool, an incorrigible being, and shall die a most famous blunderer!"

The affair was no longer discussed. The mystery of the Duncan's presence there was solved; and the travelers, so miraculously saved, thought only of revisiting their comfortable cabins and partaking of a good breakfast.

However, leaving Lady Helena, Mary Grant, the major, Paganel, and Robert to enter the saloon, Glenarvan and Captain Mangles retained Tom Austin with them. They wished to question him further.

"Now, Tom," said Glenarvan, "let me know: did not this order to sail for the coast of New Zealand seem strange to you?"

"Yes, my lord," replied Austin. "I was very much surprised; but, as I am not in the habit of discussing the orders I receive, I obeyed. Could I act otherwise? If any accident had happened from not following your instructions should I not have been to blame? Would you have done differently, captain?"

"No, Tom," answered Captain Mangles.

"But what did you think?" asked Glenarvan.

"I thought, my lord, that, in the cause of Captain Grant, it was necessary to go wherever you directed me; that by some combination of circumstances another vessel would take you to New Zealand, and that I was to wait for you on the eastern coast of the island. Moreover, on leaving Melbourne, I kept my destination secret, and the crew did not know it till we were out at sea and the shores of Australia had disappeared from sight. But then an incident occurred that perplexed me very much."

"What do you mean, Tom?" inquired Glenarvan.

"I mean," he replied, "that when the quartermaster, Ayrton, learned, the day after our departure, the Duncan's destination——"

"Ayrton!" cried Glenarvan. "Is he on board?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Ayrton here!" repeated Glenarvan, glancing at Captain Mangles.

"Wonderful indeed!" said the young captain.

In an instant, with the swiftness of lightning, Ayrton's conduct, his long-contrived treachery, Glenarvan's wound, the attack upon Mulready, their sufferings in the marshes of the Snowy, all the wretch's deeds, flashed upon the minds of the two men. And now, by a strange fatality, the convict was in their power.

"Where is he?" asked Glenarvan quickly.

"In a cabin in the forecastle," replied Tom Austin, "closely guarded."

"Why this confinement?"

"Because, when Ayrton saw that the yacht was sailing for New Zealand, he flew into a passion; because he attempted to force me to change the ship's course; because he threatened me; and, finally, because he urged my men to a mutiny. I saw that he was a dangerous person, and was compelled, therefore, to take precautions against him."

"And since that time?"

"Since that time he has been in his cabin, without offering to come out."

"Good!"

At this moment Glenarvan and Captain Mangles were summoned to the saloon. Breakfast, which they so much needed, was ready. They took seats at the table, but did not speak of Ayrton.

However, when the meal was ended, and the passengers had assembled on deck, Glenarvan informed them of the quartermaster's presence on board. At the same time he declared his intention of sending for him.

"Can I be released from attending this tribunal?" asked Lady Helena. "I confess to you, my dear Edward, that the sight of this unfortunate would be very painful to me."

"It is only to confront him, Helena," replied Glenarvan. "Remain, if you can. Ben Joyce should see himself face to face with all his intended victims."

Lady Helena yielded to this request, and Mary Grant and she took their places beside him, while around them stood the major, Paganel, Captain Mangles, Robert, Wilson, Mulready, and Olbinett, all who had suffered so severely by the convict's treason. The crew of the yacht, who did not yet understand the seriousness of these proceedings, maintained a profound silence.

"Call Ayrton!" said Glenarvan.

CHAPTER LVI.

AYRTON'S OBSTINACY.

Ayrton soon made his appearance. He crossed the deck with a confident step, and ascended the poop-stairs. His eyes had a sullen look, his teeth were set, and his fists clinched convulsively. His bearing displayed neither exultation nor humility. As soon as he was in Lord Glenarvan's presence, he folded his arms, and calmly and silently waited to be questioned:

"Ayrton," said Glenarvan, "here we all are, as you see, on board the Duncan, that you would have surrendered to Ben Joyce's accomplices."

At these words the lips of the quartermaster slightly trembled. A quick blush colored his hard features,—not the sign of remorse, but the shame of defeat. He was prisoner on this yacht that he had meant to command as master, and his fate was soon to be decided.

However, he made no reply. Glenarvan waited patiently, but Ayrton still persisted in maintaining an obstinate silence.

"Speak, Ayrton; what have you to say?" continued Glenarvan.

The convict hesitated, and the lines of his forehead were strongly contracted. At last he said, in a calm voice:

"I have nothing to say, my lord. I was foolish enough to let myself be taken. Do what you please."

Having given his answer, the quartermaster turned his eyes toward the coast that extended along the west, and affected a profound indifference for all that was passing around him. You would have thought, to look at him, that he was a stranger to this serious affair.

But Glenarvan had resolved to be patient. A powerful motive urged him to ascertain certain circumstances of Ayrton's mysterious life, especially as regarded Harry Grant and the Britannia. He therefore resumed his inquiries, speaking with extreme mildness, and imposing the most perfect calmness upon the violent agitation of his heart.

"I hope, Ayrton," continued he, "that you will not refuse to answer certain questions that I desire to ask you. And, first, am I to call you Ayrton or Ben Joyce? Are you the quartermaster of the Britannia?"

Ayrton remained unmoved, watching the coast, deaf to every question. Glenarvan, whose eye flashed with some inward emotion, continued to question him.

"Will you tell me how you left the Britannia, and why you were in Australia?"

There was the same silence, the same obstinacy.

"Listen to me, Ayrton," resumed Glenarvan. "It is for your interest to speak. We may reward a frank confession, which is your only resort. For the last time, will you answer my questions?"

Ayrton turned his head towards Glenarvan, and looked him full in the face.

"My lord," said he, "I have nothing to answer. It is for justice to prove against me."

"The proofs will be easy," replied Glenarvan.

"Easy, my lord?" continued the quartermaster, in a sneering tone. "Your lordship seems to me very hasty. I declare that the best judge in Westminster Hall would be puzzled to establish my identity. Who can say why I came to Australia, since Captain Grant is no longer here to inform you? Who can prove that I am that Ben Joyce described by the police, since they have never laid hands upon me, and my companions are at liberty? Who, except you, can charge me, not to say with a crime, but even with a culpable action?"

Ayrton had grown animated while speaking, but soon relapsed into his former indifference. He doubtless imagined that this declaration would end the examination: but Glenarvan resumed, and said:

"Ayrton, I am not a judge charged with trying you. This is not my business. It is important that our respective positions should be clearly defined. I ask nothing that can implicate you, for that is the part of justice. But you know what search I am pursuing, and, with a word, you can put me on the track I have lost. Will you speak?"

Ayrton shook his head, like a man determined to keep silent.

"Will you tell me where Captain Grant is?" asked Glenarvan.

"No, my lord."

"Will you point out where the Britannia was wrecked?"

"Certainly not."

"Ayrton," said Glenarvan, in almost a suppliant tone, "will you, at least, if you know where Captain Grant is, tell his poor children, who are only waiting for a word from your lips?"

The quartermaster hesitated; his features quivered; but, in a low voice, he muttered:

"I cannot, my lord."

Then, as if he reproached himself for a moment's weakness, he added, angrily:

"No, I will not speak! Hang me if you will!"

"Hang, then!" cried Glenarvan, overcome by a sudden feeling of indignation.

But finally controlling himself, he said, in a grave voice:

"There are neither judges nor hangmen here. At the first landing-place you shall be put into the hands of the English authorities."

"Just what I desire," replied the quartermaster.

Thereupon he was taken back to the cabin that served as his prison, and two sailors were stationed at the door, with orders to watch all his movements. The witnesses of this scene retired indignant and in despair.

Since Glenarvan had failed to overcome Ayrton's obstinacy, what was to be done? Evidently to follow the plan formed at Eden, of returning to England, and resuming hereafter this unsuccessful enterprise, for all traces of the Britannia now seemed irrevocably lost. The document admitted of no new interpretation. There was no other country on the line of the thirty-seventh parallel, and the only way was to sail for home.

He consulted his friends, and more especially Captain Mangles, on the subject of return. The captain examined his store-rooms. The supply of coal would not last more than fifteen days. It was, therefore, necessary to replenish the fuel at the first port. He accordingly proposed to Glenarvan to sail for Talcahuana Bay, where the Duncan had already procured supplies before undertaking her voyage. This was a direct passage. Then the yacht, with ample provisions, could double Cape Horn, and reach Scotland by way of the Atlantic.

This plan being adopted, the engineer was ordered to force on steam. Half an hour afterwards the yacht was headed towards Talcahuana, and at six o'clock in the evening the mountains of New Zealand had disappeared beneath the mists of the horizon.

It was a sad return for these brave searchers, who had left the shores of Scotland with such hope and confidence. To the joyous cries that had saluted Glenarvan on his return succeeded profound dejection. Each confined himself to the solitude of his cabin, and rarely appeared on deck. All, even the loquacious Paganel, were mournful and silent. If Glenarvan spoke of beginning his search again, the geographer shook his head like a man who has no more hope, for he seemed convinced as to the fate of the shipwrecked sailors. Yet there was one man on board who could have informed them about this catastrophe, but whose silence was still prolonged. There was no doubt that the rascally Ayrton knew, if not the actual situation of the captain, at least the place of the shipwreck. Probably Harry Grant, if found, would be a witness against him; hence he persisted in his silence, and was greatly enraged, especially towards the sailors who would accuse him of an evil design.

Several times Glenarvan renewed his attempts with the quartermaster. Promises and threats were useless. Ayrton's obstinacy was carried so far, and was so inexplicable, that the major came to the belief that he knew nothing; which opinion was shared by the geographer and corroborated his own ideas in regard to Captain Grant.

But if Ayrton knew nothing, why did he not plead his ignorance? It could not turn against him, while his silence increased the difficulty of forming a new plan. Ought they to infer the presence of Harry Grant in Australia from meeting the quartermaster on that continent? At all events, they must induce Ayrton to explain on this subject.

Lady Helena, seeing her husband's failures, now suggested an attempt, in her turn, to persuade the quartermaster. Where a man had failed, perhaps a woman could succeed by her gentle entreaty. Glenarvan, knowing the tact of his young wife, gave his hearty approval. Ayrton was, accordingly, brought to Lady Helena's boudoir. Mary Grant was to be present at the interview, for the young girl's influence might also be great, and Lady Helena would not neglect any chance of success.

For an hour the two ladies were closeted with the quartermaster, but nothing resulted from this conference. What they said, the arguments they used to draw out the convict's secret, all the details of this examination, remained unknown. Moreover, when Ayrton left them they did not appear to have succeeded, and their faces betokened real despair.

When the quartermaster was taken back to his cabin, therefore, the sailors saluted his appearance with violent threats. But he contented himself with shrugging his shoulders, which so increased the rage of the crew, that nothing less than the intervention of the captain and his lordship could restrain them.

But Lady Helena did not consider herself defeated. She wished to struggle to the last with this heartless man, and the next day she went herself to Ayrton's cabin, to avoid the scene that his appearance on deck occasioned.

For two long hours this kind and gentle Scotch lady remained alone face to face with the chief of the convicts. Glenarvan, a prey to nervous agitation, lingered near the cabin, now determined to thoroughly exhaust the chances of success, and now upon the point of drawing his wife away from this painful and prolonged interview.

But this time, when Lady Helena reappeared, her features inspired confidence. Had she, then, brought this secret to light, and stirred the dormant feeling of pity in the heart of this poor creature?

MacNabb, who saw her first, could not repress a very natural feeling of incredulity. However, the rumor soon spread among the crew that the quartermaster had at length yielded to Lady Helena's entreaties. All the sailors assembled on deck more quickly than if Tom Austin's whistle had summoned them.

"Has he spoken?" asked Lord Glenarvan of his wife.

"No," replied Lady Helena; "but in compliance with my entreaties he desires to see you."

"Ah, dear Helena, you have succeeded!"

"I hope so, Edward."

"Have you made any promise that I am to sanction?"

"Only one: that you will use all your influence to moderate the fate in store for him."

"Certainly, my dear Helena. Let him come to me immediately."

Lady Helena retired to her cabin, accompanied by Mary Grant, and the quartermaster was taken to the saloon where Glenarvan awaited him.

CHAPTER LVII.

A DISCOURAGING CONFESSION.

As soon as the quartermaster was in Lord Glenarvan's presence his custodians retired.

"You desired to speak to me, Ayrton?" said Glenarvan.

"Yes, my lord," replied he.

"To me alone?"

"Yes; but I think that if Major MacNabb and Mr. Paganel were present at the interview it would be better."

"For whom?"

"For me."

Ayrton spoke calmly. Glenarvan gazed at him steadily, and then sent word to MacNabb and Paganel, who at once obeyed his summons.

"We are ready for you," said Glenarvan, as soon as his two friends were seated at the cabin-table.

Ayrton reflected for a few moments, and then said:

"My lord, it is customary for witnesses to be present at every contract or negotiation between two parties. That is why I requested the presence of Mr. Paganel and Major MacNabb; for, properly speaking, this is a matter of business that I am going to propose to you."

Glenarvan, who was accustomed to Ayrton's manners, betrayed no surprise, although a matter of business between this man and himself seemed strange.

"What is this business?" said he.

"This is it," replied Ayrton. "You desire to know from me certain circumstances which may be useful to you. I desire to obtain from you certain advantages which will be valuable to me. Now, I will make an exchange, my lord. Do you agree or not?"

"What are these circumstances?" asked Paganel, quickly.

"No," corrected Glenarvan: "what are these advantages?"

Ayrton bowed, showing that he understood the distinction.

"These," said he, "are the advantages for which I petition. You still intend, my lord, to deliver me into the hands of the English authorities?"

"Yes, Ayrton; it is only justice."

"I do not deny it," replied the quartermaster. "You would not consent, then, to set me at liberty?"

Glenarvan hesitated before answering a question so plainly asked. Perhaps the fate of Harry Grant depended upon what he was about to say. However, the feeling of duty towards humanity prevailed, and he said:

"No, Ayrton, I cannot set you at liberty."

"I do not ask it," replied the quartermaster, proudly.

"What do you wish, then?"

"An intermediate fate, my lord, between that which you think awaits me and the liberty that you cannot grant me."

"And that is——?"

"To abandon me on one of the desert islands of the Pacific, with the principal necessaries of life. I will manage as I can, and repent, if I have time."

Glenarvan, who was little prepared for this proposal, glanced at his two friends, who remained silent. After a few moments of reflection, he replied:

"Ayrton, if I grant your request, will you tell me all that it is for my interest to know?"

"Yes, my lord; that is to say, all that I know concerning Captain Grant and the Britannia."

"The whole truth?"

"The whole."

"But who will warrant——?"

"Oh, I see what troubles you, my lord. You do not like to trust to me,—to the word of a malefactor! That is right. But what can you do? The situation is thus. You have only to accept or refuse."

"I will trust you, Ayrton," said Glenarvan, simply.

"And you will be right, my lord. Moreover, if I deceive you, you will always have the power to revenge yourself."

"How?"

"By recapturing me on this island, from which I shall not be able to escape."

Ayrton had a reply for everything. He met all difficulties, and produced unanswerable arguments against himself. As was seen, he strove to treat in his business with good faith. It was impossible for a person to surrender with more perfect confidence, and yet he found means to advance still further in this disinterested course.

"My lord and gentlemen," added he, "I desire that you should be convinced that I am honorable. I do not seek to deceive you, but am going to give you a new proof of my sincerity in this affair. I act frankly, because I rely upon your loyalty."

"Go on, Ayrton," replied Glenarvan.

"My lord, I have not yet your promise to agree to my proposition, and still I do not hesitate to tell you that I know little concerning Harry Grant."

"Little!" cried Glenarvan.

"Yes, my lord; the circumstances that I am able to communicate to you are relative to myself. They are personal experiences, and will scarcely tend to put you on the track you have lost."

A keen disappointment was manifest on the features of Glenarvan and the major. They had believed the quartermaster to possess an important secret, and yet he now confessed that his disclosures would be almost useless.

However that may be, this avowal of Ayrton, who surrendered himself without security, singularly affected his hearers, especially when he added, in conclusion:

"Thus you are forewarned, my lord, that the business will be less advantageous for you than for me."

"No matter," replied Glenarvan; "I accept your proposal, Ayrton. You have my word that you shall be landed at one of the islands of the Pacific."

"Very well, my lord," said he.

Was this strange man pleased with this decision? You might have doubted it, for his impassive countenance betrayed no emotion. He seemed as if acting for another more than for himself.

"I am ready to answer," continued he.

"We have no questions to ask you," rejoined Glenarvan. "Tell us what you know, Ayrton, and, in the first place, who you are."

"Gentlemen," replied he, "I am really Tom Ayrton, quartermaster of the Britannia. I left Glasgow in Captain Grant's ship on the 12th of March, 1861. For fourteen months we traversed together the Pacific, seeking some favorable place to found a Scottish colony. Harry Grant was a man capable of performing great deeds, but frequently serious disputes arose between us. His character did not harmonize with mine. I could not yield; but with Harry Grant, when his resolution is taken, all resistance is impossible. He is like iron towards himself and others. However, I dared to mutiny, and attempted to involve the crew and gain possession of the vessel. Whether I did right or wrong is of little importance. However it may be, Captain Grant did not hesitate to land me, April 8, 1862, on the west coast of Australia."

"Australia!" exclaimed the major, interrupting Ayrton's story. "Then you left the Britannia before her arrival at Callao, where the last news of her was dated?"

"Yes," replied the quartermaster; "for the Britannia never stopped at Callao while I was on board. If I spoke of Callao at O'Moore's farm, it was your story that gave me this information."

"Go on, Ayrton," said Glenarvan.

"I found myself, therefore, abandoned on an almost desert coast, but only twenty miles from the penitentiary of Perth, the capital of Western Australia. Wandering along the shore, I met a band of convicts who had just escaped. I joined them. You will spare me, my lord, the account of my life for two years and a half. It is enough to know that I became chief of the runaways, under the name of Ben Joyce. In the month of September, 1864, I made my appearance at the Irishman's farm, and was received as a servant under my true name of Ayrton. Here I waited till an opportunity should be offered to gain possession of a vessel. This was my great object. Two months later the Duncan arrived. During your visit at the farm you related, my lord, the whole story of Captain Grant. I then learned what I had not known, the Britannia's stoppage at Callao, the last news of her, dated June, 1862, two months after my abandonment, the finding of the document, the shipwreck of the vessel, and finally the important reasons you had for seeking Captain Grant in Australia. I did not hesitate, but resolved to appropriate the Duncan,—a marvelous ship, that would have distanced the best of the British navy. However, there were serious injuries to be repaired. I therefore let her start for Melbourne, and offered myself to you in my real character of quartermaster, volunteering to guide you to the scene of the shipwreck, which I falsely located on the eastern coast of Australia. Thus followed at a distance and sometimes preceded by my band of convicts, I conducted your party across the province of Victoria. My companions committed a useless crime at Camden Bridge, since the Duncan, once at Twofold Bay, could not have escaped me, and with it I should have been master of the ocean. I brought you thus unsuspectingly as far as the Snowy River. The horses and oxen fell dead one by one, poisoned by the gastrolobium. I entangled the cart in the marshes. At my suggestion——but you know the rest, my lord, and can be certain that, except for Mr. Paganel's absent-mindedness, I should now be commander on board the Duncan. Such is my story, gentlemen. My disclosures, unfortunately, cannot set you on the track of Captain Grant, and you see that in dealing with me you have made a bad bargain."

The quartermaster ceased, crossed his arms, according to his custom, and waited. Glenarvan and his friends were silent. They felt that this strange criminal had told the entire truth. The capture of the Duncan had only failed through a cause altogether beyond his control. His accomplices had reached Twofold Bay, as the convict's blouse, found by Glenarvan, proved. There, faithful to the orders of their chief, they had lain in wait for the yacht, and at last, tired of watching, they had doubtless resumed their occupation of plunder and burning in the fields of New South Wales.

The major was the first to resume the examination, in order to determine the dates relative to the Britannia.

"It was the 8th of April, 1862, then, that you were landed on the west coast of Australia?" he asked of the quartermaster.

"Exactly," replied Ayrton.

"And do you know what Captain Grant's plans were then?"

"Vaguely."

"Continue, Ayrton," said Glenarvan. "The least sign may set us on the track."

"What I can say is this, my lord. Captain Grant intended to visit New Zealand. But this part of his programme was not carried out while I was on board. The Britannia might, therefore, after leaving Callao, have gained the shores of New Zealand. This would agree with the date, June 27, 1862, given in the document as the time of the shipwreck."

"Evidently," remarked Paganel.

"But," added Glenarvan, "there is nothing in these half-obliterated portions of the document which can apply to New Zealand."

"That I cannot answer," said the quartermaster.

"Well, Ayrton," continued Glenarvan, "you have kept your word, and I will keep mine. We will decide on what island of the Pacific you shall be abandoned."

"Oh, it matters little to me," answered Ayrton.

"Return to your cabin now, and await our decision."

The quartermaster retired, under guard of the two sailors.

"This villain might have been a great man," observed the major.

"Yes," replied Glenarvan. "He has a strong and self-reliant character. Why must his abilities be devoted to crime?"

"But Harry Grant?"

"I fear that he is forever lost! Poor children! who could tell them where their father is?"

"I!" cried Paganel.

As we have remarked, the geographer, although so loquacious and excitable usually, had scarcely spoken during Ayrton's examination. He had listened in total silence. But this last word that he had uttered was worth more than all the others, and startled Glenarvan at once.

"You, Paganel!" he exclaimed; "do you know where Captain Grant is?"

"As well as can be known," answered the geographer.

"And how do you know?"

"By that everlasting document."

"Ah!" said the major, in a tone of the most thorough incredulity.

"Listen first, MacNabb, and shrug your shoulders afterwards. I did not speak before, because you would not have believed me. Besides, it was useless. But if I speak to-day, it is because Ayrton's opinion corroborates mine."

"Then New Zealand——?" asked Glenarvan.

"Hear and judge," replied Paganel. "I did not commit the blunder that saved us, without reason. Just as I was writing that letter at Glenarvan's dictation, the word Zealand was troubling my brain. You remember that we were in the cart. MacNabb had just told Lady Helena the story of the convicts, and had handed her the copy of the Australian and New Zealand Gazette that gave an account of the accident at Camden Bridge. As I was writing, the paper lay on the ground, folded so that only two syllables of its title could be seen, and these were aland. What a light broke in upon my mind! 'Aland' was one of the very words in the English document,—a word that we had hitherto translated ashore, but which was the termination of the proper name Zealand."

"Ha!" cried Glenarvan.

"Yes," continued Paganel, with profound conviction, "this interpretation had escaped me, and do you know why? Because my examinations were naturally confined more particularly to the French document, where this important word was wanting."

"Ho! ho!" laughed the major, "that is too much imagination, Paganel. You forget your previous conclusions rather easily."

"Well, major, I am ready to answer you."

"Then what becomes of your word austral?"

"It is what it was at first. It simply means the southern (australes) countries."

"Very well. But that word indi, that was first the root of Indians (indiens), and then of natives (indigènes)?"

"The third and last time, it shall be the first two syllables of the word indigence (destitution)."

"And contin!" cried MacNabb; "does it still signify continent?"

"No, since New Zealand is only an island."

"Then?" inquired Glenarvan.

"My dear lord," replied Paganel, "I will translate the document for you, according to my third interpretation, and you shall judge. I only make two suggestions. First, forget as far as possible the previous interpretations; and next, although certain passages will seem to you forced, and I may translate them wrongly, still, remember that they have no special importance. Moreover, the French document serves as the basis of my interpretation, and you must consider that it was written by an Englishman who could not have been perfectly familiar with the idioms of our language."

So saying, Paganel, slowly pronouncing each syllable, read the following:

"On the 27th of June, 1862, the brig Britannia, of Glasgow, foundered, after a long struggle (agonie), in the South (australes) Seas, on the coasts of New Zealand. Two sailors and Captain Grant succeeded in landing (aborder). Here, continually (continuellement) a prey (proie) to a cruel (cruelle) destitution (indigence), they cast this document into the sea, at longitude —— and latitude 37° 11'. Come to their assistance, or they are lost."

Paganel stopped. His interpretation was admissible. But, although it appeared as probable as the other, still it might be as false. Glenarvan and the major therefore no longer attempted to dispute it. However, since the traces of the Britannia had not been encountered on the coasts of Patagonia or Australia, the chances were in favor of New Zealand.

"Now, Paganel," said Glenarvan, "will you tell me why, for about two months, you kept this interpretation secret?"

"Because I did not wish to give you vain hopes. Besides, we were going to Auckland, which is on the very latitude of the document."

"But afterwards, when we were taken out of our course, why did you not speak?"

"Because, however just this interpretation may be, it cannot contribute to the captain's rescue."

"Why, Paganel?"

"Because, admitting that Captain Grant was wrecked on the coast of New Zealand, as long as he has not made his appearance for two years since the disaster, he must have fallen a victim to the sea or the savages."

"Then your opinion is——?" asked Glenarvan.

"That we might perhaps find some traces of the shipwreck, but that the seamen of the Britannia have perished."

"Keep all this silent, my friends," replied Glenarvan, "and leave me to choose the time for telling this sad news to the children of Captain Grant."

CHAPTER LVIII.

A CRY IN THE NIGHT.

The crew soon learned that Ayrton's disclosures had not thrown light upon the situation of Captain Grant. The despair on board was profound, for they had relied on the quartermaster, who, however, knew nothing that could put the Duncan on the track of the Britannia. The yacht therefore continued on the same course, and the only question now was to choose the island on which to leave Ayrton.

Paganel and Captain Mangles consulted the maps on board. Exactly on the thirty-seventh parallel was an island, generally known by the name of Maria Theresa, a lone rock in the midst of the Pacific, three thousand five hundred miles from the American coast, and one thousand five hundred miles from New Zealand. No ship ever came within hail of this solitary isle; no tidings from the world ever reached it. Only the storm-birds rested here during their long flights, and many maps do not even indicate its position.

If anywhere absolute isolation was to be found on earth, it was here, afar from the ocean's traveled highways. Its situation was made known to Ayrton, who consented to live there; and the vessel was accordingly headed towards the island. Two days later the lookout hailed land on the horizon. It was Maria Theresa, low, long, and scarcely emerging from the waves, appearing like some enormous sea-monster. Thirty miles still lay between it and the yacht, whose prow cut the waves with such speed that soon the island grew distinct. The sun, now sinking towards the west, defined its outlines in glowing light. Several slight elevations were tinged with the last rays of the day.

At five o'clock Captain Mangles thought he distinguished a faint smoke rising towards the sky.

"Is that a volcano?" he inquired of Paganel, who, with his telescope, was examining the land.

"I do not know what to think," replied the geographer. "Maria Theresa is a point little known. However, I should not be surprised if its origin was due to some volcanic upheaval."

"But then," said Glenarvan, "if an eruption created it, may we not fear that the same agency will destroy it?"

"That is scarcely probable," answered Paganel. "Its existence has been known for several centuries; and this seems a guarantee for its continuance."

"Well," continued Glenarvan, "do you think, captain, that we can land before night?"