“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 Paganel tells us, Mary,” said Lady Helena turning to the young girl. “If your father is in the hands of the natives, which seems probable from the document, we shall find him.”
“And what if he is lost in that immense country?” asked Mary.
“Well, we’ll find him still,” exclaimed Paganel, in a confident tone. “Won’t we, friends?”
“Most certainly,” replied Glenarvan; and anxious to give a less gloomy turn to the conversation, he added—
“But I won’t admit the supposition of his being lost, not for an instant.”
“Neither will I,” said Paganel.