did not think it prudent
to abandon it.

The ill-treatment inflicted on Ayrton was now redoubled. His hands and
feet still bore the bloody marks of the cords which bound him day and
night. Every moment he expected to be put to death, nor did it appear
possible that he could escape.

Matters remained thus until the third week of February. The convicts,
still watching for a favourable opportunity, rarely quitted their
retreat, and only made a few hunting excursions, either to the interior
of the island, or the south coast.

Ayrton had no further news of his friends, and relinquished all hope of
ever seeing them again. At last, the unfortunate man, weakened by
ill-treatment, fell into a prostration so profound that sight and
hearing failed him. From that moment, that is to say, since the last
two days, he could give no information whatever of what had occurred.

"But, Captain Harding," he added, "since I was imprisoned in that
cavern, how is it that I find myself in the corral?"

"How is it that the convicts are lying yonder dead, in the middle of the
enclosure?" answered the engineer.

"Dead!" cried Ayrton, half rising from his bed, notwithstanding his
weakness.

His companions supported him. He wished to get up, and with their
assistance he did so. They then proceeded together towards the little
stream.

It was now broad daylight.

There, on the bank, in the position in which they had been stricken by
death in its most instantaneous form, lay the corpses of the five
convicts!

Ayrton was astounded. Harding and his companions looked at him without
uttering a word. On a sign from the engineer, Neb and Pencroft examined
the bodies, already stiffened by the cold.

They bore no apparent trace of any wound.

Only, after carefully examining them, Pencroft found on the forehead of
one, on the chest of another, on the back of this one, on the shoulder
of that, a little red spot, a sort of scarcely visible bruise, the cause
of which it was impossible to conjecture.

"It is there that they have been struck!" said Cyrus Harding.

"But with what weapon?" cried the reporter.

"A weapon, lightning-like in its effects, and of which we have not the
secret!"

"And who has struck the blow?" asked Pencroft.

"The avenging power of the island," replied Harding, "he who brought you
here, Ayrton, whose influence has once more manifested itself, who does
for us all that which we cannot do for ourselves, and who,