“This was the 18th of March, 1855. “Ayrton was alone; but he lacked neither ammunition nor arms nor seeds. He, the convict, had at his disposal the house built by the honest Captain Grant. He had only to live and to expiate in solitude the crimes which he had committed. “Sirs, he repented; he was ashamed of his crimes, and he was very unhappy. He said to himself that, as some day men would come to seek him on this islet, he must make himself worthy to go back with them. How he suffered, the miserable man! How he labored to benefit himself by labor! How he prayed to regenerate himself by prayer! “For two years, for three years, it was thus. Ayrton, crushed by this isolation, ever on the watch for a ship to appear upon the horizon of his island, asking himself if the time of expiation was nearly ended, suffered as one has rarely suffered. Oh! but solitude is hard, for a soul gnawed by remorse! “But, doubtless, Heaven found this unhappy wretch insufficiently punished, for he fell, little by little, till he became a savage! He felt, little by little, the brute nature taking possession of him. He cannot say whether this was after two or four years of abandonment, but at last he became the miserable being whom you found. “I need not tell you, sirs, that Ayrton and Ben Joyce and I are one!” Smith and his companions rose as this recital was finished. It is hard to say how deeply they were affected! Such misery, such grief, and such despair, had been shown to them! “Ayrton,” said Smith, “you have been a great criminal, but Heaven has, doubtless, witnessed the expiation of your crimes. This is proved, in that you have been restored to your fellow-men. Ayrton, you are pardoned! And now, will you be our companion?” The man drew back. “Here is my hand,” said the engineer. Ayrton darted forward and seized it, great tears streaming from his eyes. “Do you desire to live with us?” asked Smith. “Oh, Mr. Smith, let me have yet a little time,” he answered, “let me remain alone in the house at the corral!” “Do as you wish, Ayrton,” responded Smith. The unhappy man was about retiring, when Smith asked him a last question. “One word more, my friend. Since it is your wish to live in solitude, why did you throw that paper, which put us in the way of finding you, into the sea?” “A paper?” answered Ayrton, who seemed not to understand what was said. “Yes, that paper, which we found enclosed in a bottle, and which gave the exact situation of Tabor Island?” The man put his hand to his forehead, and, after some reflection, said:— “I never threw any paper into the sea!” “Never!” cried Pencroff. “Never!” And then, inclining his head, Ayrton left the room. CHAPTER XL. A TALK—SMITH AND SPILETT—THE ENGINEER’S IDEA—THE ELECTRIC TELEGRAPH—THE WIRES—THE BATTER-THE ALPHABET—FINE WEATHER—THE PROSPERITY OF THE COLONY—PHOTOGRAPHY—A SNOW EFFECT—TWO YEARS ON LINCOLN ISLAND.