of Patagonia, and that he and two sailors, the sole survivors,
appeared to have reached the shore, and had written an appeal
for help in three languages and committed it to the care
of the waves.

During the recital, Robert Grant was devouring the speaker
with his eyes, and hanging on her lips. His childish imagination
evidently retraced all the scenes of his father's shipwreck.
He saw him on the deck of the BRITANNIA, and then struggling
with the billows, then clinging to the rocks, and lying at length
exhausted on the beach.

More than once he cried out, "Oh, papa! my poor papa!"
and pressed close to his sister.

Miss Grant sat silent and motionless, with clasped hands,
and all she said when the narration ended, was: "Oh, ma'am,
the paper, please!"

"I have not it now, my dear child," replied Lady Helena.

"You haven't it?"

"No. Lord Glenarvan was obliged to take it to London, for the sake
of your father; but I have told you all it contained, word for word,
and how we managed to make out the complete sense from the fragments
of words left--all except the longitude, unfortunately."

"We can do without that," said the boy.