The accession of such a guest as Olivia D’Arcy to the little party on board the Flying Fish occasioned, it will readily be understood, a complete and immediate change in all their plans. In the first moment that they gave to the consideration of the matter they saw that it would never do for a young, beautiful, and unprotected girl to accompany them hither and thither in their wanderings, even were she willing to do so, which they felt well assured she would not be. Two alternatives then presented themselves to the choice of the party: the one being to land her at the nearest port, and, furnishing her with the necessary means, leave her to make her way to England alone and unprotected as best she could; the other alternative involving the temporary abandonment of their further projects and the immediate return of the Flying Fish to England. The first project was named only to be abruptly and unanimously rejected by the entire party, the second being gladly adopted by Sir Reginald upon his receiving from his three friends the assurance of their hearty approval and acquiescence.
This decision was arrived at shortly before midnight on the evening following Olivia’s formal introduction by the professor to the remaining members of the party, and thereupon—the Flying Fish being at the time afloat and making her way leisurely southward toward the Straits of Malacca—an ascent to the upper regions of the atmosphere was at once made, and the ship’s head pointed homeward. The distance to be traversed was considerable, but it was calculated that by travelling at the ship’s utmost speed along the arc of a great circle (the shortest possible route between any two places on the earth’s surface), the journey might be accomplished in about forty-five hours, which, allowing for the difference of longitude in time between their then position and the English Channel, would enable them to reach the latter place at about two o’clock in the afternoon of the day but one following. This was rather an awkward time, if they still intended to maintain their secrecy of movement and avoid observation, but under the circumstances they resolved to risk it. Soaring, therefore, to a height of ten thousand feet—the elevation which experience had taught them to be most suitable for the performance of long-distance journeys—the Flying Fish was put to her utmost speed, and, with the gentlemen keeping watch by turns in the pilot-house, the journey was commenced.
Swiftly the wonderful fabric sped forward upon her homeward way, and, without incident of any kind worthy of mention, and almost at the very minute calculated upon, the waters of the English Channel were sighted; an unobserved descent being effected some twenty miles seaward of the little town of Saint Valery on the French coast. A course was now shaped for the Isle of Wight, and, a few hours later, one of the boats belonging to the Flying Fish quietly glided into Portsmouth harbour in charge of Lieutenant Mildmay. Three passengers—Olivia D’Arcy, the professor, and Colonel Lethbridge—landed from her without attracting any attention, and found themselves just in good time to take the London express, which they did, Mildmay making his solitary way out of the harbour again immediately.
In accordance with arrangements previously made by Sir Reginald, Miss D’Arcy was escorted by her two cavaliers straight to the town residence of a certain aunt of the baronet’s, and handed over to the care and protection of the old lady, with whom (to make short of a long story) for the ensuing twelve months she found a most comfortable and happy home; Sir Reginald and Mildmay turning up in town two days later laden with their African spoils, the equitable division of which, and their ultimate disposal, occupied the party for several months.
Thus ended the cruise of the Flying Fish. What remains to be told may be said in a very few words. Will the sagacious reader be very much surprised to learn that Sir Reginald Elphinstone suddenly discovered, in the aunt who had kindly taken Olivia D’Arcy under her protection, an old lady whose good graces were worth the most assiduous cultivation? Such, at all events, was the fact, and, this much having been stated, the aforesaid sagacious reader will perhaps be not altogether unprepared to learn that, about a year after the return of the Flying Fish to England, a wedding took place from that old lady’s house; in which ceremony Olivia enacted most charmingly the part of bride, with Sir Reginald as bridegroom, supported by the three staunch friends who had shared with him so many perils.
And what about the Flying Fish, does somebody ask? When last heard of she was—where she probably still is—lying safe and unsuspected at the bottom of the “Hurd Deep,” in the identical spot where she made her first descent into the waters of the English Channel.
Whether she will ever again be put into commission—and, if so, under what circumstances—time alone will show.