THE surprise caused by these words cannot be described. Glenarvan sprang to his feet, and pushing back his seat, exclaimed: “Who spoke?”

“I did,” said one of the servants, at the far end of the table.

“You, Ayrton!” replied his master, not less bewildered than Glenarvan.

“Yes, it was I,” rejoined Ayrton in a firm tone, though somewhat agitated voice. “A Scotchman like yourself, my Lord, and one of the shipwrecked crew of the Britannia.”

The effect of such a declaration may be imagined. Mary Grant fell back, half-fainting, in Lady Helena’s arms, overcome by joyful emotion, and Robert, and Mangles, and Paganel started up and toward the man that Paddy O’Moore had addressed as AYRTON. He was a coarse-looking fellow, about forty-five years of age, with very bright eyes, though half-hidden beneath thick, overhanging brows. In spite of extreme leanness there was an air of unusual strength about him. He seemed all bone and nerves, or, to use a Scotch expression, as if he had not wasted time in making fat. He was broad-shouldered and of middle height, and though his features were coarse, his face was so full of intelligence and energy and decision, that he gave one a favorable impression. The interest he excited was still further heightened by the marks of recent suffering imprinted on his countenance. It was evident that he had endured long and severe hardships, and that he had borne them bravely and come off victor.

“You are one of the shipwrecked sailors of the Britannia?” was Glenarvan’s first question.

“Yes, my Lord; Captain Grant’s quartermaster.”

“And saved with him after the shipwreck?”

“No, my Lord, no. I was separated from him at that terrible moment, for I was swept off the deck as the ship struck.”

“Then you are not one of the two sailors mentioned in the document?”

“No; I was not aware of the existence of the document. The captain must have thrown it into the sea when I was no longer on board.”

“But the captain? What about the captain?”

“I believed he had perished; gone down with all his crew. I imagined myself the sole survivor.”

“But you said just now, Captain Grant was living.”

“No, I said, ‘if the captain is living.’”

“And you added, ‘he is on the Australian continent.’”

“And, indeed, he cannot be anywhere else.”

“Then you don’t know where he is?”

“No, my Lord. I say again, I supposed he was buried beneath the waves, or dashed to pieces against the rocks. It was from you I learned that he was still alive.”

“What then do you know?”

“Simply this — if Captain Grant is alive, he is in Australia.”

“Where did the shipwreck occur?” asked Major McNabbs.

This should have been the first question, but in the excitement caused by the unexpected incident, Glenarvan cared more to know where the captain was, than where the Britannia had been lost. After the Major’s inquiry, however, Glenarvan’s examination proceeded more logically, and before long all the details of the event stood out clearly before the minds of the company.

To the question put by the Major, Ayrton replied:

“When I was swept off the forecastle, when I was hauling in the jib-boom, the Britannia was running right on the Australian coast. She was not more than two cables’ length from it and consequently she must have struck just there.”

“In latitude 37 degrees?” asked John Mangles.

“Yes, in latitude 37 degrees.”

“On the west coast?”

“No, on the east coast,” was the prompt reply.

“And at what date?”

“It was on the night of the 27th of June, 1862.”

“Exactly, just exactly,” exclaimed Glenarvan.

“You see, then, my Lord,” continued Ayrton, “I might justly say, If Captain Grant is alive, he is on the Australian continent, and it is useless looking for him anywhere else.”

“And we will look for him there, and find him too, and save him,” exclaimed Paganel. “Ah, precious document,” he added, with perfect NAIVETE, “you must own you have fallen into the hands of uncommonly shrewd people.”

But, doubtless, nobody heard his flattering words, for Glenarvan and Lady Helena, and Mary Grant, and Robert, were too much engrossed with Ayrton to listen to anyone else. They pressed round him and grasped his hands. It seemed as if this man’s presence was the sure pledge of Harry Grant’s deliverance. If this sailor had escaped the perils of the shipwreck, why should not the captain? Ayrton was quite sanguine as to his existence; but on what part of the continent he was to be found, that he could not say. The replies the man gave to the thousand questions that assailed him on all sides were remarkably intelligent and exact. All the while he spake, Mary held one of his hands in hers. This sailor was a companion of her father’s, one of the crew of the Britannia. He had lived with Harry Grant, crossed the seas with him and shared his dangers. Mary could not keep her eyes off his face, rough and homely though it was, and she wept for joy.

Up to this time no one had ever thought of doubting either the veracity or identity of the quartermaster; but the Major, and perhaps John Mangles, now began to ask themselves if this Ayrton’s word was to be absolutely believed. There was something suspicious about this unexpected meeting. Certainly the man had mentioned facts and dates which corresponded, and the minuteness of his details was most striking. Still exactness of details was no positive proof. Indeed, it has been noticed that a falsehood has sometimes gained ground by being exceedingly particular in minutiae. McNabbs, therefore, prudently refrained from committing himself by expressing any opinion.

John Mangles, however, was soon convinced when he heard Ayrton speak to the young girl about her father. He knew Mary and Robert quite well. He had seen them in Glasgow when the ship sailed. He remembered them at the farewell breakfast given on board the Britannia to the captain’s friends, at which Sheriff Mcintyre was present. Robert, then a boy of ten years old, had been given into his charge, and he ran away and tried to climb the rigging.

“Yes, that I did, it is quite right,” said Robert.

He went on to mention several other trifling incidents, without attaching the importance to them that John Mangles did, and when he stopped Mary Grant said, in her soft voice: “Oh, go on, Mr. Ayrton, tell us more about our father.”

The quartermaster did his best to satisfy the poor girl, and Glenarvan did not interrupt him, though a score of questions far more important crowded into his mind. Lady Helena made him look at Mary’s beaming face, and the words he was about to utter remained unspoken.

Ayrton gave an account of the Britannia’S voyage across the Pacific. Mary knew most of it before, as news of the ship had come regularly up to the month of May, 1862. In the course of the year Harry Grant had touched at all the principal ports. He had been to the Hebrides, to New Guinea, New Zealand, and New Caledonia, and had succeeded in finding an important point on the western coast of Papua, where the establishment of a Scotch colony seemed to him easy, and its prosperity certain. A good port on the Molucca and Philippine route must attract ships, especially when the opening of the Suez Canal would have supplanted the Cape route. Harry Grant was one of those who appreciated the great work of M. De Lesseps, and would not allow political rivalries to interfere with international interests.

After reconnoitering Papua, the Britannia went to provision herself at Callao, and left that port on the 30th of May, 1862, to return to Europe by the Indian Ocean and the Cape. Three weeks afterward, his vessel was disabled by a fearful storm in which they were caught, and obliged to cut away the masts. A leak sprang in the hold, and could not be stopped. The crew were too exhausted to work the pumps, and for eight days the Britannia was tossed about in the hurricane like a shuttlecock. She had six feet of water in her hold, and was gradually sinking. The boats had been all carried away by the tempest; death stared them in the face, when, on the night of the 22d of June, as Paganel had rightly supposed, they came in sight of the eastern coast of Australia.

The ship soon neared the shore, and presently dashed violently against it. Ayrton was swept off by a wave, and thrown among the breakers, where he lost consciousness. When he recovered, he found himself in the hands of natives, who dragged him away into the interior of the country. Since that time he had never heard the Britannia’s name mentioned, and reasonably enough came to the conclusion that she had gone down with all hands off the dangerous reefs of Twofold Bay.

This ended Ayrton’s recital, and more than once sorrowful exclamations were evoked by the story. The Major could not, in common justice, doubt its authenticity. The sailor was then asked to narrate his own personal hist............