I found that the place where they had got in was not the aperture which I myself used. That was closed up with the web, and they could not pass through there. They had entered on the opposite side, from the box of cloth, into which they had been able to make their way, since I had myself removed one of the boards out of its side. It had all been done recently; or, more likely, to cut through the thick plank had employed them for some time, and so delayed the execution of their design. But for this, they might have reached the inside sooner, and then not a morsel would have been left. No doubt it was for the purpose of getting at the biscuits that they had swarmed once or twice into my chamber--for that gave them free access to the box. I now deeply regretted my negligence in not securing my store in a safe way. I had already thought of doing so, but I never imagined these creatures could make an entry from behind, and I knew that the web of cloth completely shut them out on the inside. Alas! it was now too late; regrets were idle; and, following out that instinct which prompts us to preserve life as long as we can, I transferred the fragments from the box to my little shelf inside; and then, making all tight as before, I lay down to reflect upon my situation, rendered gloomier than ever by this unexpected misfortune. CHAPTER FORTY THREE. SEARCH AFTER ANOTHER BISCUIT-BOX. For many hours I remained brooding over the altered state of my affairs, with no thought arising to cheer me. I felt so hopeless that I did not even take stock of the biscuits, or rather the crumbs that were left. I guessed roughly by the size of the little heap that it might sustain life--keeping up the very small ration I had been hitherto using--for about ten days--not more. Ten days, then, or at most a fortnight, had I to live, with the prospect of certain death at the end of that time--and a death that experience told me must be slow and painful. I had already suffered the extreme of hunger, almost to death, and I dreaded to try it again; but there appeared no hope of escaping from such a doom--at least, none appeared at the moment. The shock that followed the discovery of my loss rendered me for a long time unable to think clearly. My mind was dejected and pusillanimous-- my brain, as it were, paralysed--so that whenever I took to thinking, my thoughts only wandered, or centred on the terrible doom that waited me.