Susan’s grief broke out. She sobbed in anguish and had to be carried, against her will, into the cave. Her husband, who went with her, could not utter a word.
Outside, Frank said:
“The child can’t possibly be lost! I tell you again, I saw him on the shore scarcely an hour ago, and he was not near the sea. He had a string in his hand, with a pebble at the end of it, and was playing with the albatross.”
“By the way, where is the bird?” Frank asked, looking round.
“Yes; where is he?” John Block echoed.
“Can they have disappeared together?” Captain Gould enquired.
“It looks like it,” Fritz replied.
They looked in every direction, and especially towards the rocks where the bird was accustomed to perch.
It was not to be seen, nor could its cry be heard—a cry easily distinguishable from the noises of the divers, gulls, and sea-mews.
The albatross might have flown above the cliff and made for some other eminence along the coast. But the little boy could not have flown away. Yet he might have been capable of climbing along the promontory after the bird. This explanation was hardly admissible, however, after the search that Frank and the boatswain had made.