After the long separation which had estranged us from each other, it was for him to confide in me, and for me to await his confidences. He had told me as much of his past life as he wished me to know; his life in the Indian garrison, his hunting, and adventures; but not a word had he said of the emotions which swelled in his heart, or the cause of the sighs which heaved his breast; undoubtedly Fabian was not one who tried to lessen his grief by speaking of it, and therefore he suffered the more. Thus we remained leaning over the sea, and as I turned my head I saw the great paddles emerging under the regular action of the engine. Once Fabian said to me, “This track is indeed magnificent. One would think that the waves were amusing themselves with tracing letters! Look at the ‘l’s’ and ‘e’s’. Am I deceived? No, they are indeed always the same letters.” Fabian’s excited imagination saw in these eddyings that which it wished to see. But what could these letters signify? What remembrance did they call forth in Fabian’s mind? The latter had resumed his silent contemplation, when suddenly he said to me,— “Come to me, come; that gulf will draw me in!” “What is the matter with you, Fabian,” said I, taking him by both hands; “what is the matter, my friend?” “I have here,” said he, pressing his hand on his heart, “I have here a disease which will kill me.” “A disease?” said I to him, “a disease with no hope of cure?” “No hope.” And without another word Fabian went to the saloon, and then on to his cabin. CHAPTER XII. The next day, Saturday, 30th of March, the weather was fine, and the sea calm; our progress was more rapid, and the “Great Eastern” was now going at the rate of twelve knots an hour. The wind had set south, and the first officer ordered the mizen and the top-mast sails to be hoisted, so that the ship was perfectly steady. Under this fine sunny sky the upper decks again became crowded; ladies appeared in fresh costumes, some walking about, others sitting down—I was going to say on the grass-plats beneath the shady trees, and the children resumed their interrupted games. With a few soldiers in uniform, strutting about with their hands in their pockets, one might have fancied oneself on a French promenade. At noon, the weather being favourable, Captain Anderson and two officers went on to the bridge, in order to take the sun’s altitude; each held a sextant in his hand, and from time to time scanned the southern horizon, towards which their horizon-glasses were inclined. “Noon,” exclaimed the Captain, after a short time. Immediately a steersman rang a bell on the bridge, and all the watches on board were regulated by the statement which had just been made. Half-an-hour later, the following observation was posted up:— Lat. 51° 10´ N. Long. 24° 13´ W. Course, 227 miles. Distance 550.