ON the 7th of December, at three A. M., the Duncan lay puffing out her smoke in the little harbor ready to start, and a few minutes afterward the anchor was lifted, and the screw set in motion. By eight o’clock, when the passengers came on deck, the Amsterdam Island had almost disappeared from view behind the mists of the horizon. This was the last halting-place on the route, and nothing now was between them and the Australian coast but three thousand miles’ distance. Should the west wind continue but a dozen days longer, and the sea remain favorable, the yacht would have reached the end of her voyage.

Mary Grant and her brother could not gaze without emotion at the waves through which the Duncan was speeding her course, when they thought that these very same waves must have dashed against the prow of the Britannia but a few days before her shipwreck. Here, perhaps, Captain Grant, with a disabled ship and diminished crew, had struggled against the tremendous hurricanes of the Indian Ocean, and felt himself driven toward the coast with irresistible force. The Captain pointed out to Mary the different currents on the ship’s chart, and explained to her their constant direction. Among others there was one running straight to the Australian continent, and its action is equally felt in the Atlantic and Pacific. It was doubtless against this that the Britannia, dismasted and rudderless, had been unable to contend, and consequently been dashed against the coast, and broken in pieces.

A difficulty about this, however, presented itself. The last intelligence of Captain Grant was from Callao on the 30th of May, 1862, as appeared in the Mercantile and Shipping Gazette. “How then was it possible that on the 7th of June, only eight days after leaving the shores of Peru, that the Britannia could have found herself in the Indian Ocean? But to this, Paganel, who was consulted on the subject, found a very plausible solution.

It was one evening, about six days after their leaving Amsterdam Island, when they were all chatting together on the poop, that the above-named difficulty was stated by Glenarvan. Paganel made no reply, but went and fetched the document. After perusing it, he still remained silent, simply shrugging his shoulders, as if ashamed of troubling himself about such a trifle.

“Come, my good friend,” said Glenarvan, “at least give us an answer.”

“No,” replied Paganel, “I’ll merely ask a question for Captain John to answer.”

“And what is it, Monsieur Paganel?” said John Mangles.

“Could a quick ship make the distance in a month over that part of the Pacific Ocean which lies between America and Australia?”

“Yes, by making two hundred miles in twenty-four hours.”

“Would that be an extraordinary rate of speed?”

“Not at all; sailing clippers often go faster.”

“Well, then, instead of ‘7 June’ on this document, suppose that one figure has been destroyed by the sea-water, and read ‘17 June’ or ‘27 June,’ and all is explained.”

“That’s to say,” replied Lady Helena, “that between the 31st of May and the 27th of June —”

“Captain Grant could have crossed the Pacific and found himself in the Indian Ocean.”

Paganel’s theory met with universal acceptance.

“That’s one more point cleared up,” said Glenarvan. “Thanks to our friend, all that remains to be done now is to get to Australia, and look out for traces of the wreck on the western coast.”

“Or the eastern?” said John Mangles.

“Indeed, John, you may be right, for there is nothing in the document to indicate which shore was the scene of the catastrophe, and both points of the continent crossed by the 37th parallel, must, therefore, be explored.”

“Then, my Lord, it is doubtful, after all,” said Mary.

“Oh no, Miss Mary,” John Mangles hastened to reply, seeing the young girl’s apprehension. “His Lordship will please to consider that if Captain Grant had gained the shore on the east of Australia, he would almost immediately have found refuge and assistance. The whole of that coast is English, we might say, peopled with colonists. The crew of the Britannia could not have gone ten miles without meeting a fellow-countryman.”

“I am quite of your opinion, Captain John,” said Paganel. “On the eastern coast Harry Grant would not only have found an English colony easily, but he would certainly have met with some means of transport back to Europe.”

“And he would not have found the same resources on the side we are making for?” asked Lady Helena.

“No, madam,” replied Paganel; “it is a desert coast, with no communication between it and Melbourne or Adelaide. If the Britannia was wrecked on those rocky shores, she was as much cut off from all chance of help as if she had been lost on the inhospitable shores of Africa.”

“But what has become of my father there, then, all these two years?” asked Mary Grant.

“My dear Mary,” replied Paganel, “you have not the least doubt, have you, that Captain Grant reached the Australian continent after his shipwreck?”

“No, Monsieur Paganel.”

“Well, granting that, what became of him? The suppositions we might make are not numerous. They are confined to three. Either Harry Grant and his companions have found their way to the English colonies, or they have fallen into the hands of the natives, or they are lost in the immense wilds of Australia.”

“Go on, Paganel,” said Lord Glenarvan, as the learned Frenchman made a pause.

“The first hypothesis I reject, then, to begin with, for Harry Grant could not have reached the English colonies, or long ago he would have been back with his children in the good town of Dundee.”

“Poor father,” murmured Mary, “away from us for two whole years.”

“Hush, Mary,” said Robert, “Monsieur Paganel will tell us.”

“Alas! my boy, I cannot. All that I affirm is, that Captain Grant is in the hands of the natives.”

“But these natives,” said Lady Helena, hastily, “are they —”

“Reassure yourself, madam,” said Paganel, divining her thoughts. “The aborigines of Australia are low enough in the scale of human intelligence, and most degraded and uncivilized, but they are mild and gentle in disposition, and not sanguinary like their New Zealand neighbors. Though they may be prisoners, their lives have never been threatened, you may be sure. All travelers are unanimous in declaring that the Australian natives abhor shedding blood, and many a time they have found in them faithful allies in repelling the attacks of evil-disposed convicts far more cruelly inclined.”

“You hear what Monsieur Pagan............