FOR the first few moments the joy of reunion completely filled the hearts. Lord Glenarvan had taken care that the ill-success of their expedition should not throw a gloom over the pleasure of meeting, his very first words being:

“Cheer up, friends, cheer up! Captain Grant is not with us, but we have a certainty of finding him!”

Only such an assurance as this would have restored hope to those on board the Duncan. Lady Helena and Mary Grant had been sorely tried by the suspense, as they stood on the poop waiting for the arrival of the boat, and trying to count the number of its passengers. Alternate hope and fear agitated the bosom of poor Mary. Sometimes she fancied she could see her father, Harry Grant, and sometimes she gave way to despair. Her heart throbbed violently; she could not speak, and indeed could scarcely stand. Lady Helena put her arm round her waist to support her, but the captain, John Mangles, who stood close beside them spoke no encouraging word, for his practiced eye saw plainly that the captain was not there.

“He is there! He is coming! Oh, father!” exclaimed the young girl. But as the boat came nearer, her illusion was dispelled; all hope forsook her, and she would have sunk in despair, but for the reassuring voice of Glenarvan.

After their mutual embraces were over, Lady Helena, and Mary Grant, and John Mangles, were informed of the principal incidents of the expedition, and especially of the new interpretation of the document, due to the sagacity of Jacques Paganel. His Lordship also spoke in the most eulogistic terms of Robert, of whom Mary might well be proud. His courage and devotion, and the dangers he had run, were all shown up in strong relief by his patron, till the modest boy did not know which way to look, and was obliged to hide his burning cheeks in his sister’s arms.

“No need to blush, Robert,” said John Mangles. “Your conduct has been worthy of your name.” And he leaned over the boy and pressed his lips on his cheek, still wet with Mary’s tears.

The Major and Paganel, it need hardly be said, came in for their due share of welcome, and Lady Helena only regretted she could not shake hands with the brave and generous Thalcave. McNabbs soon slipped away to his cabin, and began to shave himself as coolly and composedly as possible; while Paganel flew here and there, like a bee sipping the sweets of compliments and smiles. He wanted to embrace everyone on board the yacht, and beginning with Lady Helena and Mary Grant, wound up with M. Olbinett, the steward, who could only acknowledge so polite an attention by announcing that breakfast was ready.

“Breakfast!” exclaimed Paganel.

“Yes, Monsieur Paganel.”

“A real breakfast, on a real table, with a cloth and napkins?”

“Certainly, Monsieur Paganel.”

“And we shall neither have CHARQUI, nor hard eggs, nor fillets of ostrich?”

“Oh, Monsieur,” said Olbinett in an aggrieved tone.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, my friend,” said the geographer smiling. “But for a month that has been our usual bill of fare, and when we dined we stretched ourselves full length on the ground, unless we sat astride on the trees. Consequently, the meal you have just announced seemed to me like a dream, or fiction, or chimera.”

“Well, Monsieur Paganel, come along and let us prove its reality,” said Lady Helena, who could not help laughing.

“Take my arm,” replied the gallant geographer.

“Has his Lordship any orders to give me about the Duncan?” asked John Mangles.

“After breakfast, John,” replied Glenarvan, “we’ll discuss the program of our new expedition en famille.”

M. Olbinett’s breakfast seemed quite a FETE to the hungry guests. It was pronounced excellent, and even superior to the festivities of the Pampas. Paganel was helped twice to each dish, through “absence of mind,” he said.

This unlucky word reminded Lady Helena of the amiable Frenchman’s propensity, and made her ask if he had ever fallen into his old habits while they were away. The Major and Glenarvan exchanged smiling glances, and Paganel burst out laughing, and protested on his honor that he would never be caught tripping again once more during the whole voyage. After this prelude, he gave an amusing recital of his disastrous mistake in learning Spanish, and his profound study of Camoens. “After all,” he added, “it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good, and I don’t regret the mistake.”

“Why not, my worthy friend?” asked the Major.

“Because I not only know Spanish, but Portuguese. I can speak two languages instead of one.”

“Upon my word, I never thought of that,” said McNabbs. “My compliments, Paganel — my sincere compliments.”

But Paganel was too busily engaged with his knife and fork to lose a single mouthful, though he did his best to eat and talk at the same time. He was so much taken up with his plate, however, that one little fact quite escaped his observation, though Glenarvan noticed it at once. This was, that John Mangles had grown particularly attentive to Mary Grant. A significant glance from Lady Helena told him, moreover, how affairs stood, and inspired him with affectionate sympathy for the young lovers; but nothing of this was apparent in his manner to John, for his next question was what sort of a voyage he had made.

“We could not have had a better; but I must apprise your Lordship that I did not go through the Straits of Magellan again.”

“What! you doubled Cape Horn, and I was not there!” exclaimed Paganel.

“Hang yourself!” said the Major.

“Selfish fellow! you advise me to do that because you want my rope,” retorted the geographer.

“Well, you see, my dear Paganel, unless you have the gift of ubiquity you can’t be in two places at once. While you were scouring the pampas you could not be doubling Cape Horn.”

“That doesn’t prevent my regretting it,” replied Paganel.

Here the subject dropped, and John continued his account of his voyage. On arriving at Cape Pilares he had found the winds dead against him, and therefore made for the south, coasting along the Desolation Isle, and after going as far as the sixty-seventh degree southern latitude, had doubled Cape Horn, passed by Terra del Fuego and the Straits of Lemaire, keeping close to the Patagonian shore. At Cape Corrientes they encountered the terrible storm which had handled the travelers across the pampas so roughly, but the yacht had borne it bravely, and for the last three days had stood right out to sea, till the welcome signal-gun of the expedition was heard announcing the arrival of the anxiously-looked-for party. “It was only justice,” the captain added, “that he should mention the intrepid bearing of Lady Helena and Mary Grant throughout the whole hurricane. They had not shown the least fear, unless for their friends, who might possibly be exposed to the fury of the tempest.”

After John Mangles had finished his narrative, Glenarvan turned to Mary and said; “My dear Miss Mary, the captain has been doing homage to your noble qualities, and I am glad to think you are not unhappy on board his ship.”

“How could I be?” replied Mary naively, looking at Lady Helena, and at the young captain too, likely enough.

“Oh, my sister is very fond of you, Mr. John, and so am I,” exclaimed Robert.

“And so am I of you, my dear boy,” returned the captain, a little abashed by Robert’s innocent avowal, which had kindled a faint blush on Mary’s cheek. Then he managed to turn the conversation to safer topics by saying: “And now that your Lordship has heard all about the doings of the Duncan, perhaps you will give us some details of your own journey, and tell us more about the exploits of our young hero.”

Nothing could be more agreeable than such a recital to Lady Helena and Mary Grant; and accordingly Lord Glenarvan hastened to satisfy their curiosity — going over incident by incident, the entire march from one ocean to another, the pass of the Andes, the earthquake, the disappearance of Robert, his capture by the condor, Thalcave’s providential shot, the episode of the red wolves, the devotion of the young lad, Sergeant Manuel, the inundations, the caimans, the waterspout, the night on the Atlantic shore — all these details, amusing or terrible, excited by turns laughter and horror in the listeners. Often and often Robert came in for caresses from his sister and Lady Helena. Never was a boy so much embraced, or by such enthusiastic friends.

“And now, friends,” added Lord Glenarvan, when he had finished his narrative, “we must think of the present. The past is gone, but the future is ours. Let us come back to Captain Harry Grant.”

As soon as breakfast was over they all went into Lord Glenarvan’s private cabin and seated themselves round a table covered with charts and pla............