I continue my way through the pillars to the extremity of the cavern.  No one has sought to stop me, no one has spoken to me, not a soul apparently has taken the very slightest notice of me.  This portion of Back Cup is extremely curious, and comparable to the most marvellous of the grottoes of Kentucky or the Balearics.  I need hardly say that nowhere is the labor of man apparent.  All this is the handiwork of nature, and it is not without wonder, mingled with awe, that I reflect upon the telluric forces capable of engendering such prodigious substructions.  The daylight from the crater in the centre only strikes this part of the cavern obliquely, so that it is very imperfectly lighted, but at night, when illuminated by the electric lamps, its aspect must be positively fantastic.

I have examined the walls everywhere with minute attention, but have been unable to discover any means of communicating with the outside.

Quite a colony of birds—­gulls, sea-swallows and other feathery denizens of the Bermudan beaches have made their home in the cavern.  They have apparently never been hunted, for they are in no way disturbed by the presence of man.

But besides sea-birds, which are free to come and go as they please by the orifice in the dome, there is a whole farmyard of domestic poultry, and cows and pigs.  The food supply is therefore no less assured than it is varied, when the fish of all kinds that abound in the lagoon and around the island are taken into consideration.

Moreover, a mere glance at the colonists of Back Cup amply suffices to show that they are not accustomed to fare scantily.  They are all vigorous, robust seafaring men, weatherbeaten and seasoned in the burning beat of tropical latitudes, whose rich blood is surcharged with oxygen by the breezes of the ocean.  There is not a youth nor an old man among them.  They are all in their prime, their ages ranging from thirty to fifty.

But why do they submit to such an existence?  Do they never leave their rocky retreat?

Perhaps I shall find out ere I am much older.

CHAPTER X.

KER KARRAJE.

The cell in which I reside is about a hundred paces from the habitation of the Count d’Artigas, which is one of the end ones of this row of the Beehive.  If I am not to share it with Thomas Roch, I presume the latter’s cell is not far off, for in order that Warder Gaydon may continue to care for the ex-patient of Healthful House, their respective apartments will have to be contiguous.  However, I suppose I shall soon be enlightened on this point.

Captain Spade and Engineer Serko reside separately in proximity to D’Artigas’ mansion.

Mansion?  Yes, why not dignify it with the title since this habitation has been arranged with a certain art?  Skillful hands have carved an ornamental facade in the rock.  A large door affords access to it.  Colored glass windows in wooden frames let into the limestone walls admit the light.  The interior comprises several chambers, a dining-room and a drawing-room lighted by a stained-glass window, the whole being perfectly ventilated.  The furniture is of various styles and shapes and of French, English and American make.  The kitchen, larder, etc., are in adjoining cells in rear of the Beehive.