And as if these few words had been difficult to say, he retreated to the beach, where he walked up and down between the cascade and the mouth of the Mercy, in a state of extreme agitation.

Then, passing one moment close to Herbert, he stopped and in a stifled voice,—­

“What month?” he asked.

“December,” replied Herbert.

“What year?”

“1866.”

“Twelve years! twelve years!” he exclaimed.

Then he left him abruptly.

Herbert reported to the colonists the questions and answers which had been made.

“This unfortunate man,” observed Gideon Spilett, “was no longer acquainted with either months or years!”

“Yes!” added Herbert, “and he had been twelve years already on the islet when we found him there!”

“Twelve years!” rejoined Harding.  “Ah! twelve years of solitude, after a wicked life, perhaps, may well impair a man’s reason!”

“I am induced to think,” said Pencroft, “that this man was not wrecked on Tabor Island, but that in consequence of some crime he was left there.”

“You must be right, Pencroft,” replied the reporter, “and if it is so it is not impossible that those who left him on the island may return to fetch him some day!”

“And they will no longer find him,” said Herbert.

“But then,” added Pencroft, “they must return, and—­”

“My friends,” said Cyrus Harding, “do not let us discuss this question until we know more about it.  I believe that the unhappy man has suffered, that he has severely expiated his faults, whatever they may have been, and that the wish to unburden himself stifles him.  Do not let us press him to tell us his history!  He will tell it to us doubtless, and when we know it, we shall see what course it will be best to follow.  He alone besides can tell us, if he has more than a hope, a certainty, of returning some day to his country, but I doubt it!”

“And why?” asked the reporter.

“Because that, in the event of his being sure of being delivered at a certain time, he would have waited the hour of his deliverance and would not have thrown this document into the sea.  No, it is more probable that he was condemned to die on that islet, and that he never expected to see his fellow-creatures again!”

“But,” observed the sailor, “there is one thing which I cannot explain.”

“What is it?”

“If this man had been left for twelve years on Tabor Island, one may well suppose that he had been several years already in the wild state in which we found him!”

“That is probable,” replied Cyrus Harding.

“It must then be many years since he wrote that document!”

“No doubt,” and yet the document appears to have been recently written!

“Besides, how do you know that the bottle which enclosed the document may not have taken several years to come from Tabor Island to Lincoln Island?”