without any possible
communication with your fellow-creatures. You cannot escape from this
islet on which the 'Duncan' leaves you. You will be alone, under the eye
of a God who reads the depths of the heart, but you will be neither
lost nor forgotten, as was Captain Grant. Unworthy as you are to be
remembered by men, men will remember you. I know where you are Ayrton,
and I know where to find you. I will never forget it!

"And the 'Duncan,' making sail, soon disappeared. This was 18th of
March, 1855.

(The events which have just been briefly related are taken
from a work which some of our readers have no doubt read,
and which is entitled, "Captain Grant's children." They will
remark on this occasion, as well as later, some discrepancy
in the dates; but later again, they will understand why the
real dates were not at first given.)

"Ayrton was alone, but he had no want of either ammunition, weapons,
tools, or seeds.

"At his, the convict's disposal, was the house built by honest Captain
Grant. He had only to live and expiate in solitude the crimes which he
had committed.

"Gentlemen, he repented, he was ashamed of his crimes and was very
miserable! He said to himself, that if men came some day to take
him from that islet, he must be worthy to return among them! How he
suffered, that wretched man! How he labored to recover himself by work!
How he prayed to be reformed by prayer! For two years, three years, this
went on, but Ayrton, humbled by solitude, always looking for some ship
to appear on the horizon, asking himself if the time of expiation would
soon be complete, suffered as none other suffered! Oh! how dreadful was
this solitude, to a heart tormented by remorse!

"But doubtless Heaven had not sufficiently punished this unhappy man,
for he felt that he was gradually becoming a savage! He felt that
brutishness was gradually gaining on him!

"He could not say if it was after two or three years of solitude, but at
last he became the miserable creature you found!

"I have no need to tell you, gentlemen, that Ayrton, Ben Joyce, and I,
are the same."

Cyrus Harding and his companions rose at the end of this account. It
is impossible to say how much they were moved! What misery, grief, and
despair lay revealed before them!

"Ayrton," said Harding, rising, "you have been a great criminal, but
Heaven must certainly think that you have expiated your crimes! That
has been proved by