“Then vessels do stop here occasionally?” the consul said, with a pleased smile.

“Well, not often,” said Stedman.  “Not so very often; about once a year.  The Nelson thought this was Octavia, and put off again as soon as she found out her mistake, but the Bradleys took to the bush, and the boat’s crew couldn’t find them.  When they saw your flag, they thought you might mean to send them back, so they ran off to hide again:  they’ll be back, though, when they get hungry.”

The supper young Stedman spread for his guests, as he still treated them, was very refreshing and very good.  There was cold fish and pigeon pie, and a hot omelet filled with mushrooms and olives and tomatoes and onions all sliced up together, and strong black coffee.  After supper, Stedman went off to see the King, and came back in a little while to say that his Majesty would give them an audience the next day after breakfast.  “It is too dark now,” Stedman explained; “and it’s raining so that they can’t make the street lamps burn.  Did you happen to notice our lamps?  I invented them; but they don’t work very well yet.  I’ve got the right idea, though, and I’ll soon have the town illuminated all over, whether it rains or not.”

The consul had been very silent and indifferent, during supper, to all around him.  Now he looked up with some show of interest.

“How much longer is it going to rain, do you think?” he asked.

“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 sailor’s 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:—­