Such was Mary Grant’s sorrowful story, and she recounted it in a simple and unaffected manner. But Lady Helena put her arms round both the children, and could not restrain her tears.
As for Robert, while his sister was speaking, he gazed at her with wide-open eyes, only knowing now how much she had done and suffered for him; and, as she ended, he exclaimed:
“Oh, mamma! My dear little mamma!”
It was quite dark by this time, and Lady Helena made the children go to bed, for she knew they must’ve been tired after their journey. They were soon both sound asleep, dreaming of happy days.
Mary Grant and her brother were up very early next morning, and were walking about in the courtyard when they heard the sound of a carriage approaching. It was Lord Glenarvan; and, almost immediately, Lady Helena and the Major came out to meet him.
Lady Helena flew toward her husband; but he embraced her silently, and looked gloomy and disappointed—indeed, even furious.
“Well, Edward?” she said; “tell me.”
“Well, Helena, dear; those people have no heart!”
“They have refused?”
“Yes. They have refused me a ship! They declared the document was obscure and unintelligible. And, then, they said it was two years since they were cast away, and there was little chance of finding them. They said that the search would be vain and perilous, and cost more lives than it saved. The truth is, they remembered Captain Grant’s projects, and that is the secret of the whole affair. So the poor fellow is lost forever.”
“My father! My poor father!” cried Mary Grant, throwing herself on her knees before Lord Glenarvan, who exclaimed in amazement:
“Your father? What? Is this Miss—”
“Yes, Edward,” said Lady Helena; “this is Miss Mary Grant and her brother.”
“Oh! Miss Grant,” said Lord Glenarvan, raising the young girl, “if I had known of your presence—”
He said no more, and there was a painful silence in the courtyard, broken only by sobs. No one spoke. At last the Major said, addressing Lord Glenarvan: “Then you have no hope whatever?”
“None,” was the reply.
“Very well, then,” exclaimed little Robert, “I’ll go and speak to those people myself, and we’ll see if they—” He did not complete his sentence, for his sister stopped him.
“No, Robert,” said Mary Grant, “we will thank this noble lord and lady for what they have done for us, and never cease to think of them with gratitude; and then we’ll both go together.”
“Mary!” said Lady Helena, in a tone of surprise.
“Go where?” asked Lord Glenarvan.
“I am going to throw myself at the Queen’s feet, and we shall see if she will be deaf to the prayers of two children, who implore their father’s life.”
Lord Glenarvan shook his head. Lady Glenarvan felt the young girl’s attempt would be useless. Suddenly, a grand, generous purpose fired her soul, and she called out: “Mary Grant! Wait, my child, and listen to what I’m going to say.”
The young wife went up to her husband, and said, with tears in her eyes, though her voice was firm, and her face beamed with animation: “Edward, God has sent that letter to us—to us! Undoubtedly God intends us to undertake the rescue of these poor men.”
“What do you mean, Helena?”
“Well, Edward, to please me you planned a pleasure trip; but what could give us such genuine pleasure, or be so useful, as to save those unfortunate fellows?”
“Helena!” exclaimed Lord Glenarvan.
“Yes, Edward, you understand me. The Duncan is a good strong ship, it can venture in the Southern Seas, or go round the world if necessary. Let us go, Edward; let us start off and search for Captain Grant!”
Lord Glenarvan made no reply to this bold proposition, but smiled, and, holding out his arms, drew his wife into a close, fond embrace. Mary and Robert seized her hands, and covered them with kisses; and the servants shouted with one voice, “Hurrah! Three cheers for Lord and Lady Glenarvan!”
Chapter V. The Departure of the Duncan
We have said already that Lady Helena was a brave, generous woman. Her husband had good reasons to be proud of such a wife. The idea of going to Captain Grant’s rescue had occurred to him in London when his request was refused. But now she herself proposed to go!
There was not an hour to be lost. A telegram was dispatched to John Mangles the very same day, conveying Lord Glenarvan’s orders to take the Duncan immediately to Glasgow, and to make preparations for a voyage to the Southern Seas, and possibly round the world, if necessary.
The Duncan was a steam yacht of the finest description. It had two masts; its engine, which was constructed on a new system, was a high-pressure one, of 160-horse power. It made seventeen miles an hour, a higher speed than any vessel had yet attained.
John Mangles understood his business[29]. Though he was only the captain of a pleasure yacht[30], he was one of the best skippers in Glasgow. He was thirty years of age, and his countenance expressed both courage and goodness. When Lord Glenarvan offered him the command of the Duncan, he accepted it with right good will, for he loved the master of Malcolm Castle, like a brother.
Tom Austin, the mate, was an old sailor, worthy of all confidence. The crew, consisting of twenty-five men, including the captain and chief officer, were all experienced sailors. And when the crew heard the news, they could not restrain their enthusiasm.
John Mangles did not forget to fit up the rooms of Lord and Lady Glenarvan for a long voyage. He had also to get cabins ready for the children of Captain Grant, as Lady Helena could not refuse Mary’s request to accompany her. As for young Robert, he was put in charge of John Mangles.
To complete the roll of passengers, we must name Major McNabbs. The Major was about fifty years of age, with a calm face and regular features—a man who did whatever he was told, of an excellent, indeed, a perfect temper; modest, silent, peaceable, and amiable, agreeing with everybody on every subject, never discussing, never disputing, never getting angry. Nothing could excite him, nothing could disturb him. As a cousin of Glenarvan, he lived in Malcolm Castle, and as a major he went with the Duncan.
The ship was to sail out with the tide at three o’clock on the morning of the 25th of August.
Chapter VI. An Unexpected Passenger
The sea was calm. McNabbs was talking to himself, as was his habit. He stood motionless, watching the track of the yacht. After some minutes of this silent contemplation he turned round, and suddenly found himself face to face with a stranger.
He was a tall, thin man, about forty years of age, and resembled a long nail with a big head. His head was large and massive, his forehead high, his chin very marked. His eyes were concealed by enormous round spectacles, and in his look was that peculiar indecision which is common to nyctalopes[31], or people who have a peculiar construction of the eye, which makes the sight imperfect in the day and better at night. It was evident that he was a lively, intelligent man.
The stranger’s excitement was a strong contrast to the Major’s placidity. He walked round McNabbs, looking at him and questioning him with his eyes.
The mysterious passenger seized his telescope, drew it out to its fullest extent, about four feet, and began gazing at the horizon, standing motionless with his legs wide apart. His examination lasted some few minutes, and then he lowered the glass.
McNabbs never moved a muscle of his face. This was too much for the stranger, and