Robert that the
king's men had procured a warrant against him for resisting his
majesty's officers, and he must fly for his life. There was a flutter of
hushed excitement. Everybody was awakened. Robert hurriedly gathered up
his effects, which were taken to a brigantine ready to sail for
Virginia. There was a silent, tearful farewell with Ester; vows were
renewed, and he swore when the clouds had rolled away to come and make
her his wife.

Then a last embrace, a hasty kiss, and he hurried away to the bay. Ten
minutes later the house was surrounded by soldiers.

CHAPTER XIII.

LEFT ALONE.

Yes, 'twill be over soon,--This sickly dream
Of life will vanish from my brain;
And death my wearied spirit will redeem
From this wild region of unvaried pain.
--WHITE.

For fifteen years John Stevens and Blanche Holmes had lived on the
Island of Desolation, and in all that time not a sign of a sail had
appeared on the vast ocean. Not a sight of a human being had greeted
their eyes, and they had become somewhat reconciled to the idea of
passing their lives on this island. The soil in the valley was fertile
and yielded abundance to moderate tillage. John studied the seasons and
knew when to plant to receive the benefits of the rains. There was no
winter in this tropical clime, the rainy season taking the place of
winter. The sails and clothing which they had brought from the wreck had
been husbanded and made to last as long as possible; and then Blanche,
who was industrious, spun and wove cloth for both from the fibre of a
coarse weed like hemp. Her wheel and loom were rude affairs constructed
by John Stevens, who, thanks to his early experience as a pioneer, knew
how to make all useful household implements. When their shoes were worn
out he tanned the skins of goats and made them moccasins, and he even
wore a jacket of goat's skin.

For a covering for his head, he shot a fox and dressing the skin
fashioned himself a cap. In fact, the castaways lived as comfortably as
the pioneers of Virginia. John had his days of despondency, however. For
fifteen years he had climbed the hill and gazed beyond the reef-girt
shore at the broad sea in the vain hope of descrying a sail. He always
heaved a sigh of disappointment when he swept the sailless ocean with
his glass.

One morning when he had made his fruitless pilgrimage to his point of
observation, he sat down upo