credited; but since that, the reports of various travelers appear to give confirmation to what Le Vaillant asserted.  The paragraph you have now read in the newspaper has again renewed the assertion, and the parties from whom it proceeds are by all accounts worthy of credence.  You may imagine, my dear boy, what a pang it gives me when I read these reports,—­when I reflect that my poor girl, who was with that party, may at this moment be alive, may have returned to a state of barbarism,—­the seeds of faith long dead in her bosom,—­now changed to a wild, untutored savage, knowing no God.”

“But, my dear uncle, allowing that my aunt is alive, she was not so young at the time of the wreck as to forget entirely what she had been taught.”

“That is possible; but then her condition must be still more painful, or rather I should say must have been, for probably she is dead long before this, or if not dead, she must be a woman advanced in life; indeed, as you may observe in the account given by the traveler in the paragraph you have read, it speaks only of the descendants of those who were lost in the Grosvenor.  The idea of my grandchildren having returned to a state of barbarism is painful enough; I wish it were possible that I could discover the truth, for it is the uncertainty which so much distresses me.  I have but a few years to live, Alexander; I am a very old man, as you know, and may be summoned to-morrow or to-night, for we know not what a day may bring forth.  If I were only certain that my child had died, miserable as her death must have been, it would be happiness, to the idea that she was one of those whose descendants they speak of.  If you knew how for the last thirty years this has preyed upon my mind, you would comprehend my anxiety on this account; but God’s will be done.  Do not let me detain you longer, Alexander; I should prefer being alone.”

Alexander, at this intimation, took the proffered hand of his grand-uncle in a reverential and feeling manner, and, without saying any more, quitted the room.

CHAPTER II.

The conversation which he had had with his grand-uncle made a very forcible impression upon Alexander Wilmot; it occasioned him to pass a very sleepless night, and he remained till nearly four o’clock turning it over in his mind.  The loss of the Grosvenor Indiaman had occurred long before he was born; he was acquainted with the outline of what had taken place, and had been told, when a child, that a relation of his family had perished; but although the narrative had, at the time, made some impression upon his young mind, he had seldom, if ever, heard it spoken of since, and may have been said to have almost forgotten it.  He was therefore not a little surprised when he found how great an influence it had upon his grand-uncle, who had never mentioned it to him before; indeed it had escaped Alexander’s memory that it was his grand-uncle’s only surviving daughter who had been lost in the vessel.