“If he does not speak it is because he has, I fear, things too serious to be told!”

They must be patient and wait.

A few days later, on the 3rd of November, the stranger, working on the plateau, had stopped, letting his spade drop to the ground, and Harding, who was observing him from a little distance, saw that tears were again flowing from his eyes.  A sort of irresistible pity led him towards the unfortunate man, and he touched his arm lightly.

“My friend!” said he.

The stranger tried to avoid his look, and Cyrus Harding having endeavored to take his hand, he drew back quickly.

“My friend,” said Harding in a firmer voice, “look at me, I wish it!”

The stranger looked at the engineer, and seemed to be under his power, as a subject under the influence of a mesmerist.  He wished to run away.  But then his countenance suddenly underwent a transformation.  His eyes flashed.  Words struggled to escape from his lips.  He could no longer contain himself!  At last he folded his arms; then, in a hollow voice,—­“Who are you?” he asked Cyrus Harding.

“Castaways, like you,” replied the engineer, whose emotion was deep.  “We have brought you here, among your fellow-men.”

“My fellow-men!. . . .  I have none!”

“You are in the midst of friends.”

“Friends!—­for me! friends!” exclaimed the stranger, hiding his face in his hands.  “No—­never—­leave me! leave me!”

Then he rushed to the side of the plateau which overlooked the sea, and remained there a long time motionless.

Harding rejoined his companions and related to them what had just happened.

“Yes! there is some mystery in that man’s life,” said Gideon Spilett, “and it appears as if he had only re-entered society by the path of remorse.”

“I don’t know what sort of a man we have brought here,” said the sailor.  “He has secrets—­”

“Which we will respect,” interrupted Cyrus Harding quickly.  “If he has committed any crime, he has most fearfully expiated it, and in our eyes he is absolved.”

For two hours the stranger remained alone on the shore, evidently under the influence of recollections which recalled all his past life—­a melancholy life doubtless—­and the colonists, without losing sight of him, did not attempt to disturb his solitude.  However, after two hours, appearing to have formed a resolution, he came to find Cyrus Harding.  His eyes were red with the tears he had shed, but he wept no longer.  His countenance expressed deep humility.  He appeared anxious, timorous, ashamed, and his eyes were constantly fixed on the ground.

“Sir,” said he to Harding, “your companions and you, are you English?”

“No,” answered the engineer, “we are Americans.”

“Ah!” said the stranger, and he murmured, “I prefer that!”

“And you, my friend?” asked the engineer.

“English,” replied he hastily.