“It must have been the birth of that island which released us,” he observed; “the solid rock, thrust upward by volcanic force, piercing the ocean bed, and rising above the surface of the water.” “It’s the most marvellous thing I ever heard of,” rejoined Seymour, “though I fear the presence of that great rock will not prove much of a blessing to the vessels that frequent these seas, especially as it will be uncharted.” “It will not remain so long,” retorted the scientist; “but see, the _Seal_ is drifting towards it. We shall be able to moor her directly.” Inch by inch the helpless submarine drifted towards the boulder-strewn shore of the island, which but lately had formed part of the subterranean world. Ere long she was close enough for her crew to moor her, and this Seymour did. As he fastened the rope, the hounds, weary of the restraint of the turret, leapt ashore, and went careering madly over the rocks. Suddenly they burst into a clamorous baying, as a monstrous form emerged from the shelter of a clump of boulders. “’Tis Muswani!” cried the Ayuti, and vaulting the rail, he rushed forward to meet his steed. “Great Scott!” cried Seymour, “if that don’t beat all. Fancy the old elk getting through safely.” Mervyn’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Grand!” he cried; “it’s just what I needed. The elk’s the very thing to confirm my story. If----” “Ship in sight!” bawled Garth at that instant. His comrades followed the direction of his gaze. Away on the distant horizon, bathed in the blood-red rays of the dying sun, appeared the masts and funnels of a large steamer. “Thank Heaven!” breathed the scientist, joyfully; “our troubles are over at last!” “Say, Seymour, how’s this strike yer?” Haverly skimmed his copy of the “Metropolitan Gazette” across to the baronet. “I guess Mervyn’ll have a word or two to say about that,” he went on; “for sheer impudence the party as is responsible for that classy drivel takes the biscuit. I reckon, figuratively speaking, he’s just about mopped the floor with the professor.” The adventurers sat in the library of Hilton Manor. Mervyn alone was absent, he being in London, hard at work upon his book. “What do you mean, Silas?” Garth asked. “Just what I say,” retorted the American; “but read it out, William, so’s our pards can grasp the elevatin’ language.” “Very well,” returned the baronet, smiling, and forthwith commenced to read the following, which, topped by two staring head-lines, occupied two columns of the “Gazette’s” centre page.