He paused for a moment, scanning the page while they held their breath.
Then he read aloud, yet not so as to disturb the other students—
"'Holmness. An Island or Islet in the Bristol Channel—'"
"Ah!" The boy let his breath escape almost in a sob.
"'Uninhabited—'"
The old chemist looked up over the rims of his spectacles; but whether questioning or because the sound had interrupted him, Tilda could not determine.
"Yes," said the boy eagerly. "They thought that about—about the other
Island, sir. Didn't they?"
The old man, either not hearing or not understanding, looked down at the page again. He read out the latitude and longitude—words and figures which neither of the children understood.
"'Extreme length, three-quarters of a mile; width at narrowest point, 165 yards. It contains 356 acres, all of short grass, and affords pasturage in summer for a few sheep from the mainland. There is no harbour; but the south side affords fair anchorage for vessels sheltering from N.W. winds. The distance from nearest point of coast is three and three-quarter miles. Reputed to have served anciently as rendezvous for British pirates, and even in the last century as a smugglers' entrepot. Geological formation—'"
"Is that all?" asked Tilda as the old man ceased his reading.
"That is all."