“Never mind that, I shall do very well.”

“My friend,” answered Harding, who always intentionally made use of this cordial appellation, “you must let us judge what it will be best to do in this respect.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied the stranger as he withdrew.

The engineer then made known to his companions the proposal which had been made to him, and it was agreed that they should build a wooden house at the corral, which they would make as comfortable as possible.

That very day the colonists repaired to the corral with the necessary tools, and a week had not passed before the house was ready to receive its tenant.  It was built about twenty feet from the sheds, and from there it was easy to overlook the flock of sheep, which then numbered more than eighty.  Some furniture, a bed, table, bench, cupboard, and chest were manufactured, and a gun, ammunition, and tools were carried to the corral.

The stranger, however, had seen nothing of his new dwelling, and he had allowed the settlers to work there without him, while he occupied himself on the plateau, wishing, doubtless, to put the finishing stroke to his work.  Indeed, thanks to him, all the ground was dug up and ready to he sowed when the time came.

It was on the 20th of December that all the arrangements at the corral were completed.  The engineer announced to the stranger that his dwelling was ready to receive him, and the latter replied that he would go and sleep there that very evening.

On this evening the colonists were gathered in the diningroom of Granite House.  It was then eight o’clock, the hour at which their companion was to leave them.  Not wishing to trouble him by their presence, and thus imposing on him the necessity of saying farewells which might perhaps be painful to him, they had left him alone and ascended to Granite House.

Now, they had been talking in the room for a few minutes, when a light knock was heard at the door.  Almost immediately the stranger entered, and without any preamble,—­

“Gentlemen,” said he, “before I leave you, it is right that you should know my history.  I will tell it you.”

These simple words profoundly impressed Cyrus Harding and his companions.  The engineer rose.

“We ask you nothing, my friend,” said he; “it is your right to be silent.”

“It is my duty to speak.”

“Sit down, then.”

“No, I will stand.”

“We are ready to hear you,” replied Harding.

The stranger remained standing in a corner of the room, a little in the shade.  He was bareheaded, his arms folded across his chest, and it was in this posture that in a hoarse voice, speaking like some one who obliges himself to speak, he gave the following recital, which his auditors did not once interrupt:—­