And how to avoid this danger, the worst of all, during their return to the coast.  Harris and Negoro had not led them a hundred miles into the interior of Angola without a secret design to gain possession of them.

But what did this miserable Portuguese intend?  Who had merited his hatred?  The young novice repeated to himself, that he alone had incurred it.  Then he passed in review all the incidents that had taken place during the “Pilgrim’s” voyage; the meeting with the wreck and the blacks; the pursuit of the whale; the disappearance of Captain Hull and his crew.

Dick Sand had found himself, at the age of fifteen, intrusted with the command of a vessel, the compass and log of which were soon injured by Negoro’s criminal actions.  He again saw himself using his authority in the presence of this insolent cook, threatening to put him in irons, or to blow out his brains with a pistol shot.  Ah, why had he hesitated to do it?  Negoro’s corpse would have been thrown overboard, and none of these catastrophes would have happened.

Such were the young man’s various thoughts.  Then they dwelt a moment on the shipwreck which had ended the “Pilgrim’s” voyage.  The traitor Harris appeared then, and this province of South America gradually became transformed.  Bolivia changed to the terrible Angola, with its feverish climate, its savage deer, its natives still more cruel.  Could the little party escape during its return to the coast?  This river which he was seeking, which he hoped to find, would it conduct them to the shore with more safety, and with less fatigue?  He would not doubt it, for he knew well that a march of a hundred miles through this inhospitable country, in the midst of incessant dangers, was no longer possible.

“Happily,” he said to himself, “Mrs. Weldon and all are ignorant of the danger of the situation.  Old Tom and I, we alone are to know that Negoro has thrown us on the coast of Africa; and that Harris has led me into the wilds of Angola.”

Dick Sand was thus sunk in overpowering thoughts, when he felt a breath on his forehead.  A hand rested on his shoulder, and a trembling voice murmured these words in his ear: 

“I know all, my poor Dick, but God can yet save us!  His will be done!”

CHAPTER VI.

THE DIVING-BELL.

To this unexpected revelation Dick Sand could not reply.  Besides, Mrs. Weldon had gone back at once to her place beside little Jack.  She evidently did not wish to say any more about it, and the young novice had not the courage to detain her.

Thus Mrs. Weldon knew what to believe.  The various incidents, of the way had enlightened her also, and perhaps, too, that word, “Africa!” so unluckily pronounced the night before by Cousin Benedict.

“Mrs. Weldon knows everything,” repeated Dick Sand to himself.  “Well, perhaps it is better so.  The brave woman does not despair.  I shall not despair either.”