“That proves,” answered Cyrus Harding, “that Ayrton was deprived of intelligence at a more recent time than he thinks.”

“Of course it must be so,” replied Pencroft, “without that the fact would be unaccountable.”

“Unaccountable indeed,” answered the engineer, who did not appear desirous to prolong the conversation.

“But has Ayrton told the truth?” asked the sailor.

“Yes,” replied the reporter.  “The story which he has told is true in every point.  I remember quite well the account in the newspapers of the yacht expedition undertaken by Lord Glenarvan, and its result.”

“Ayrton has told the truth,” added Harding.  “Do not doubt it, Pencroft, for it was painful to him.  People tell the truth when they accuse themselves like that!”

The next day—­the 21st of December—­the colonists descended to the beach, and having climbed the plateau they found nothing of Ayrton.  He had reached his house in the corral during the night and the settlers judged it best not to agitate him by their presence.  Time would doubtless perform what sympathy had been unable to accomplish.

Herbert, Pencroft, and Neb resumed their ordinary occupations.  On this day the same work brought Harding and the reporter to the workshop at the Chimneys.

“Do you know, my dear Cyrus,” said Gideon Spilett, “that the explanation you gave yesterday on the subject of the bottle has not satisfied me at all!  How can it be supposed that the unfortunate man was able to write that document and throw the bottle into the sea without having the slightest recollection of it?”

“Nor was it he who threw it in, my dear Spilett.”

“You think then—­”

“I think nothing, I know nothing!” interrupted Cyrus Harding.  “I am content to rank this incident among those which I have not been able to explain to this day!”

“Indeed, Cyrus,” said Spilett, “these things are incredible!  Your rescue, the case stranded on the sand, Top’s adventure, and lastly this bottle...  Shall we never have the answer to these enigmas?”

“Yes!” replied the engineer quickly, “yes, even if I have to penetrate into the bowels of this island!”

“Chance will perhaps give us the key to this mystery!”

“Chance!  Spilett!  I do not believe in chance, any more than I believe in mysteries in this world.  There is a reason for everything unaccountable which has happened here, and that reason I shall discover.  But in the meantime we must work and observe.”

The month of January arrived.  The year 1867 commenced.  The summer occupations were assiduously continued.  During the days which followed, Herbert and Spilett having gone in the direction of the corral, ascertained that Ayrton had taken possession of the habitation which had been prepared for him.  He busied himself with the numerous flock confided to his care, and spared his companions the trouble of coming every two or three days to visit the corral.  Nevertheless, in order not to leave Ayrton in solitude for too long a time, the settlers often paid him a visit.