“Now, Tom,” said Glenarvan, “let me know: did not this order to sail for the coast of New Zealand seem strange to you?”
“Yes, my lord,” replied Austin. “I was very much surprised; but, as I am not in the habit of discussing the orders I receive, I obeyed. Could I act otherwise? If any accident had happened from not following your instructions should I not have been to blame? Would you have done differently, captain?”
“No, Tom,” answered Captain Mangles.
“But what did you think?” asked Glenarvan.
“I thought, my lord, that, in the cause of Captain Grant, it was necessary to go wherever you directed me; that by some combination of circumstances another vessel would take you to New Zealand, and that I was to wait for you on the eastern coast of the island. Moreover, on leaving Melbourne, I kept my destination secret, and the crew did not know it till we were out at sea and the shores of Australia had disappeared from sight. But then an incident occurred that perplexed me very much.”
“What do you mean, Tom?” inquired Glenarvan.
“I mean,” he replied, “that when the quartermaster, Ayrton, learned, the day after our departure, the Duncan’s destination—”
“Ayrton!” cried Glenarvan. “Is he on board?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Ayrton here!” repeated Glenarvan, glancing at Captain Mangles.
“Wonderful indeed!” said the young captain.
In an instant, with the swiftness of lightning, Ayrton’s conduct, his long-contrived treachery, Glenarvan’s wound, the attack upon Mulready, their sufferings in the marshes of the Snowy, all the wretch’s deeds, flashed upon the minds of the two men. And now, by a strange fatality, the convict was in their power.
“Where is he?” asked Glenarvan quickly.
“In a cabin in the forecastle,” replied Tom Austin, “closely guarded.”
“Why this confinement?”
“Because, when Ayrton saw that the yacht was sailing for New Zealand, he flew into a passion; because he attempted to force me to change the ship’s course; because he threatened me; and, finally, because he urged my men to a mutiny. I saw that he was a dangerous person, and was compelled, therefore, to take precautions against him.”
“And since that time?”
“Since that time he has been in his cabin, without offering to come out.”
“Good!”
At this moment Glenarvan and Captain Mangles were summoned to the saloon. Breakfast, which they so much needed, was ready. They took seats at the table, but did not speak of Ayrton.
However, when the meal was ended, and the passengers had assembled on deck, Glenarvan informed them of the quartermaster’s presence on board. At the same time he declared his intention of sending for him.
“Can I be released from attending this tribunal?” asked Lady Helena. “I confess to you, my dear Edward, that the sight of this unfortunate would be very painful to me.”
“It is only to confront him, Helena,” replied Glenarvan. “Remain, if you can. Ben Joyce should see himself face to face with all his intended victims.”
Lady Helena yielded to this request, and Mary Grant and she took their places beside him, while around them stood the major, Paganel, Captain Mangles, Robert, Wilson, Mulready, and Olbinett, all who had suffered so severely by the convict’s treason. The crew of the yacht, who did not yet understand the seriousness of these proceedings, maintained a profound silence.
“Call Ayrton!” said Glenarvan.
LVI
Ayrton’s Obstinacy
Ayrton soon made his appearance. He crossed the deck with a confident step, and ascended the poop-stairs. His eyes had a sullen look, his teeth were set, and his fists clinched convulsively. His bearing displayed neither exultation nor humility. As soon as he was in Lord Glenarvan’s presence, he folded his arms, and calmly and silently waited to be questioned:
“Ayrton,” said Glenarvan, “here we all are, as you see, on board the Duncan, that you would have surrendered to Ben Joyce’s accomplices.”
At these words the lips of the quartermaster slightly trembled. A quick blush colored his hard features—not the sign of remorse, but the shame of defeat. He was prisoner on this yacht that he had meant to command as master, and his fate was soon to be decided.
However, he made no reply. Glenarvan waited patiently, but Ayrton still persisted in maintaining an obstinate silence.
“Speak, Ayrton; what have you to say?” continued Glenarvan.
The convict hesitated, and the lines of his forehead were strongly contracted. At last he said, in a calm voice:
“I have nothing to say, my lord. I was foolish enough to let myself be taken. Do what you please.”
Having given his answer, the quartermaster turned his eyes toward the coast that extended along the west, and affected a profound indifference for all that was passing around him. You would have thought, to look at him, that he was a stranger to this serious affair.
But Glenarvan had resolved to be patient. A powerful motive urged him to ascertain certain circumstances of Ayrton’s mysterious life, especially as regarded Harry Grant and the Britannia. He therefore resumed his inquiries, speaking with extreme mildness, and imposing the most perfect calmness upon the violent agitation of his heart.
“I hope, Ayrton,” continued he, “that you will not refuse to answer certain questions that I desire to ask you. And, first, am I to call you Ayrton or Ben Joyce? Are you the quartermaster of the Britannia?”
Ayrton remained unmoved, watching the coast, deaf to every question. Glenarvan, whose eye flashed with some inward emotion, continued to question him.
“Will you tell me how you left the Britannia, and why you were in Australia?”
There was the same silence, the same obstinacy.
“Listen to me, Ayrton,” resumed Glenarvan. “It is for your interest to speak. We may reward a frank confession, which is your only resort. For the last time, will you answer my questions?”
Ayrton turned his head towards Glenarvan, and looked him full in the face.
“My lord,” said he, “I have nothing to answer. It is for justice to prove against me.”
“The proofs will be easy,” replied Glenarvan.
“Easy, my lord?” continued the quartermaster, in a sneering tone. “Your lordship seems to me very hasty. I declare that the best
