“Oh, I don’t know,” said Stedman, critically.  “Not more than two months, I should say.”  The consul rubbed his rheumatic leg and sighed, but said nothing.

The Bradleys returned about ten o’clock, and came in very sheepishly.  The consul had gone off to pay the boatmen who had brought them, and Albert in his absence assured the sailors that there was not the least danger of their being sent away.  Then he turned into one of the beds, and Stedman took one in another room, leaving the room he had occupied heretofore for the consul.  As he was saying good-night, Albert suggested that he had not yet told them how he came to be on a deserted island; but Stedman only laughed and said that that was a long story, and that he would tell him all about it in the morning.  So Albert went off to bed without waiting for the consul to return, and fell asleep, wondering at the strangeness of his new life, and assuring himself that if the rain only kept up, he would have his novel finished in a month.

The sun was shining brightly when he awoke, and the palm-trees outside were nodding gracefully in a warm breeze.  From the court came the odor of strange flowers, and from the window he could see the ocean brilliantly blue, and with the sun coloring the spray that beat against the coral reefs on the shore.

“Well, the consul can’t complain of this,” he said, with a laugh of satisfaction; and pulling on a bath-robe, he stepped into the next room to awaken Captain Travis.  But the room was quite empty, and the bed undisturbed.  The consul’s trunk remained just where it had been placed near the door, and on it lay a large sheet of foolscap, with writing on it, and addressed at the top to Albert Gordon.  The handwriting was the consul’s.  Albert picked it up and read it with much anxiety.  It began abruptly

The fishermen who brought us to this forsaken spot tell me that it rains here six months in the year, and that this is the first month.  I came here to serve my country, for which I fought and bled, but I did not come here to die of rheumatism and pneumonia.  I can serve my country better by staying alive; and whether it rains or not, I don’t like it.  I have been grossly deceived, and I am going back.  Indeed, by the time you get this, I will be on my return trip, as I intend leaving with the men who brought us here as soon as they can get the sail up.  My cousin, Senator Rainsford, can fix it all right with the President, and can have me recalled in proper form after I get back.  But of course it would not do for me to leave my post with no one to take my place, and no one could be more ably fitted to do so than yourself; so I feel no compunctions at leaving you behind.  I hereby, therefore, accordingly appoint you my substitute with full power to act, to collect all fees, sign all papers, and attend to all matters pertaining to your office as American consul, and I trust you will worthily uphold the name of that country and government which it has always been my pleasure and duty to serve.

    Your sincere friend and superior officer,