became dim; then, leaning out of the window, he surveyed the horizon, but could see nothing.
“Take this telescope,” said Spilett, “and look carefully, Ayrton, for it is possible that this ship may be the Duncan come to these seas for the purpose of taking you home again.”
“The Duncan!” murmured Ayrton. “Already?” This last word escaped Ayrton’s lips as if involuntarily, and his head drooped upon his hands.
Did not twelve years’ solitude on a desert island appear to him a sufficient expiation? Did not the penitent yet feel himself pardoned, either in his own eyes or in the eyes of others?
“No,” said he, “no! it cannot be the Duncan!”
“Look, Ayrton,” then said the engineer, “for it is necessary that we should know beforehand what to expect.”
Ayrton took the glass and pointed it in the direction indicated. During some minutes he examined the horizon without moving, without uttering a word. Then—
“It is indeed a vessel,” said he, “but I do not think she is the Duncan.”
“Why do you not think so?” asked Gideon Spilett. “Because the Duncan is a steam-yacht, and I cannot perceive any trace of smoke either above or near that vessel.”
“Perhaps she is simply sailing,” observed Pencroft. “The wind is favourable for the direction which she appears to be taking, and she may be anxious to economise her coal, being so far from land.”