Dick Sand's character to go as far as that. And, meanwhile,
could suspicion rest on any other? No, those honest negroes had not
left the grotto for an instant, while Negoro had wandered over the
beach. He alone must be guilty. Dick Sand then resolved to question
Negoro, and, if necessary, have him searched when he returned. He
wished to know decidedly what to believe.

The sun was then going down to the horizon. At that date he had not yet
crossed the equator to carry heat and light into the northern
hemisphere, but he was approaching it. He fell, then, almost
perpendicularly to that circular line where the sea and the sky meet.
Twilight was short, darkness fell promptly--which confirmed the novice
in the thought that he had landed on a point of the coast situated
between the tropic of Capricorn and the equator.

Mrs. Weldon, Dick Sand, and the blacks then returned to the grotto,
where they must take some hours' rest.

"The night will still be stormy," observed Tom, pointing to the horizon
laden with heavy clouds.

"Yes," replied Dick Sand, "there is a strong breeze blowing up. But
what matter, at present? Our poor ship is lost, and the tempest can no
longer reach us?"

"God's will be done!" said Mrs. Weldon.

It was agreed that during that night, which would be very dark, each of
the blacks would watch turn about at the entrance to the grotto. They
could, besides, count upon Dingo to keep a careful watch.

They then perceived that Cousin Benedict had not returned.

Hercules called him with all the strength of his powerful lungs, and
almost immediately they saw the entomologist coming down the slopes of
the cliff, at the risk of breaking his neck.

Cousin Benedict was literally furious. He had not found a single new
insect in the forest--no, not one--which was fit to figure in his
collection. Scorpions, scolopendras, and other myriapodes, as many as
he could wish, and even more, were discovered. And we know that Cousin
Benedict did not interest himself in myriapodes.

"It was not worth the trouble," added he, "to travel five or six
thousand miles, to have braved the tempest, to be wrecked on the coast,
and not meet one of those American hexapodes, which do honor to an
entomological museum! No; the game was not worth the candle!"

As a conclusion, Cousin Benedict asked to go away. He did not wish to
remain another hour on that detested shore.

Mrs. Weldon calmed her large child. They made him hope that he