The Duncan, having taken in her necessary stores, skirted the coasts of Patagonia, doubled Cape Horn, and steamed across the Atlantic. The voyage was very uneventful. The yacht carried a full complement of happy people; there seemed to be no secrets on board.
A mystery, however, still perplexed MacNabb. Why did Paganel always keep hermetically incased in his clothes, and wear a comforter over his ears? The major longed to know the motive for this singular fancy. But in spite of his questions, hints, and suspicions, Paganel did not unbutton his coat.
At last, fifty-three days after leaving Talcahuana, Captain Mangles descried the lighthouse of Cape Clear. The vessel entered St. George’s Channel, crossed the Irish Sea, and passed into the Firth of Clyde. At eleven o’clock they anchored at Dumbarton, and early in the afternoon the travelers reached Malcolm Castle, amidst the hurrahs of their tenantry and friends.
Thus it was that Harry Grant and his two companions were rescued, and that John Mangles married Mary Grant in the old cathedral of St. Mungo, where the Rev. Mr. Morton, who nine months before had prayed for the rescue of the father, now blessed the union of the daughter with one of his deliverers. It was arranged that Robert should be a sailor, like his father and brother-in-law, and that he should continue the contemplated project of the former, under the munificent patronage of Lord Glenarvan.
But was Jacques Paganel to die a bachelor? Certainly not; for, after his heroic exploits, the worthy geographer could not escape celebrity. His eccentricities (and his abilities) made him much talked of in Scotland. People seemed as though they could not show him enough attention.
Just at this time an amiable lady of thirty, none other than the major’s cousin, a little eccentric herself, but still agreeable and charming, fell in love with the geographer’s peculiarities. Paganel was far from being insensible to Miss Arabella’s attractions, yet did not dare to declare his sentiments. The major accordingly undertook the part of Cupid’s messenger between these two congenial hearts, and even told Paganel that marriage was “the last blunder” that he could commit. But the geographer was very much embarrassed, and, strangely enough, could not summon courage to speak for himself.
“Does not Miss Arabella please you?” MacNabb would say to him.
“Oh, major, she is charming!” cried Paganel,—“a thousand times too charming for me; and, if I must tell you, would please me better if she were less so. I should like to find a defect.”
“Be easy,” answered the major; “she has more than one. The most perfect woman always has her share. Well, then, Paganel, are you decided?”
“I do not dare.”
“But, my learned friend, why do you hesitate?”
“I am unworthy of her!” was the geographer’s invariable reply.
At last, one day, driven desperate by the irrepressible major, Paganel confessed to him, under the pledge of secrecy, a peculiarity that would facilitate his identification, if the police should ever be on his track!
“Bah!” exclaimed the major.
“It is as I tell you,” persisted Paganel.
“What matter, my worthy friend?”
“Is that your opinion?”
“On the contrary, you are only more remarkable. This adds to your personal advantages. It makes you the inimitable individual of whom Arabella has dreamed.”
And the major, preserving an imperturbable gravity, left Paganel a prey to the most acute anxiety.
A short interview took place between MacNabb and the lady, and fifteen weeks after a marriage was celebrated with great pomp in the chapel of Malcolm Castle.
The geographer’s secret would doubtless have remained forever buried in the abysses of the unknown if the major had not told it to Glenarvan, who did not conceal it from Lady Helena, who communicated it to Mrs. Mangles. In short, it reached the ear of Mrs. Olbinett, and spread.
Jacques Paganel, during his three days’ captivity among the Maoris, had been tattooed from head to foot, and bore on his breast the picture of an heraldic kiwi with outstretched wings, in the act of biting at his heart.
This was the only adventure of his great voyage for which Paganel could never be consoled or pardon the New Zealanders. In spite of the representations of his friends, he dared not go back to France, for fear of exposing the whole Geographical Society in his person to the jests and railleries of the caricaturists.
The return of Captain Grant to Scotland was welcomed as a cause for national rejoicing, and he became the popular man of old Caledonia. His son Robert has become a sailor like himself, and, under the patronage of Lord Glenarvan, has undertaken the plan of founding a Scottish colony on the shores washed by the Pacific Ocean.
THE END