“How far did you go?” asked Carey.
“To where the little river glides out of a lake up yonder in the hills. I fancy it must have been the crater of a volcano, for I kicked against pieces of obsidian and slag. The volcanic glass broke up with edges as sharp as a razor.”
“But how far was it to the lake?” asked Carey.
“Ah, that I can’t tell you in miles. In time it was two hours and a half hard walking. Coming back, one hour and a half. I was away just about four hours.”
“Did you get a good view from the lake, sir?”
“No, but I climbed a peak close by it, and from there I could see all round the island.”
“Round the island!” grunted Bostock, nodding.
“Yes, round the island; and nearly all round it at a distance are reefs of coral, with the rollers breaking upon them in white foam.”
“Then it’s only a little place,” said Carey.
“Yes, only a few miles across.”