o, my boy," replied the sailor; "they were in a copper box which shut
very tightly; and now what are we to do?"

"We shall certainly find some way of making a fire," said Herbert.
"Captain Harding or Mr. Spilett will not be without them."

"Yes," replied Pencroft; "but in the meantime we are without fire, and
our companions will find but a sorry repast on their return."

"But," said Herbert quickly, "do you think it possible that they have no
tinder or matches?"

"I doubt it," replied the sailor, shaking his head, "for neither Neb nor
Captain Harding smoke, and I believe that Mr. Spilett would rather keep
his note-book than his match-box."

Herbert did not reply. The loss of the box was certainly to be
regretted, but the boy was still sure of procuring fire in some way or
other. Pencroft, more experienced, did not think so, although he was not
a man to trouble himself about a small or great grievance. At any rate,
there was only one thing to be done--to await the return of Neb and the
reporter; but they must give up the feast of hard eggs which they had
meant to prepare, and a meal of raw flesh was not an agreeable prospect
either for themselves or for the others.

Before returning to the cave, the sailor and Herbert, in the event of
fire being positively unattainable, collected some more shell-fish, and
then silently retraced their steps to their dwelling.

Pencroft, his eyes fixed on the ground, still looked for his box. He
even climbed up the left bank of the river from its mouth to the angle
where the raft had been moored. He returned to the plateau, went over it
in every direction, searched among the high grass on the border of the
forest, all in vain.

It was five in the evening when he and Herbert re-entered the cave.
It is useless to say that the darkest corners of the passages were
ransacked before they were obliged to give it up in despair. Towards
six o'clock, when the sun was disappearing behind the high lands of the
west, Herbert, who was walking up and down on the strand, signalized the
return of Neb and Spilett.

They were returning alone!... The boy's heart sank; the sailor had not
been deceived in his forebodings; the engineer, Cyrus Harding, had not
been found!

The reporter, on his arrival, sat down on a rock, without saying
anything. Exhausted with fatigue, dying of hunger, he had not strength
to utter a word.

As to Neb, his red eyes showed how he had cried, and the tears which he
coul