“You see, John,” said Glenarvan, “the convicts got as far as here! and our poor comrades of the DUNCAN—”
“Yes,” said John, in a low voice, “they never landed, they perished!”
“Those wretches!” cried Glenarvan. “If ever they fall into my hands I will avenge my crew—”
Grief had hardened Glenarvan’s features. For some minutes he gazed at the expanse before him, as if taking a last look at some ship disappearing in the distance. Then his eyes became dim; he recovered himself in a moment, and without a word or look, set off at a gallop toward Eden.
The wanderers passed their last evening sadly enough. Their thoughts recalled all the misfortunes they had encountered in this country. They remembered how full of well-warranted hope they had been at Cape Bernouilli, and how cruelly disappointed at Twofold Bay!
Paganel was full of feverish agitation. John Mangles, who had watched him since the affair at Snowy River, felt that the geographer was hesitating whether to speak or not to speak. A thousand times he had pressed him with questions, and failed in obtaining an answer.
But that evening, John, in lighting him to his room, asked him why he was so nervous.
“Friend John,” said Paganel, evasively, “I am not more nervous to-night than I always am.”
“Mr. Paganel,” answered John, “you have a secret that chokes you.”
“Well!” cried the geographer, gesticulating, “what can I do? It is stronger than I!”