For a moment Ayrton looked pale, and his eyes were troubled. Then he stooped down and gazed around the horizon. “Take this spy-glass,” said Spilett, “and look well, Ayrton, for it may be the Duncan come to take you home.” “The Duncan!” murmured Ayrton. “Already!” The last word escaped him involuntarily and he buried his face in his hands. Did not twelve years’ abandonment on a desert island seem to him a sufficient expiation? “No,” said he, “no, it cannot be the Duncan.” “Look, Ayrton,” said the engineer, “for we must know beforehand with whom we have to deal.” Ayrton took the glass and levelled it in the direction indicated. For some minutes he observed the horizon in silence. Then he said:— “Yes, it is a ship, but I do not think it is the Duncan. “Why not?” asked Spilett. “Because the Duncan is a steam-yacht, and I see no trace of smoke about this vessel.” “Perhaps she is only under sail,” observed Pencroff. “The wind is behind her, and she may want to save her coal, being go far from land.” “You may be right, Mr. Pencroff,” said Ayrton. “But, let her come in shore, and we shall soon know what to make of her.” So saying, he sat down in a corner and remained silent, taking no part in the noisy discussion about the unknown ship. No more work was done. Spilett and Pencroff were extremely nervous; they walked up and down, changing place every minute. Herbert’s feeling was one of curiosity. Neb alone remained calm; his master was his country. The engineer was absorbed in his thoughts, and was inclined to believe the ship rather an enemy than a friend. By the help of the glass they could make out that she was a brig, and not one of those Malay proas, used by the pirates of the Pacific. Pencroff, after a careful look, affirmed that the ship was square-rigged, and was running obliquely to the coast, on the starboard tack, under mainsail, topsail, and top-gallant sail set. Just then the ship changed her tack, and drove straight towards the island. She was a good sailer, and rapidly neared the coast. Ayrton took the glass to try to ascertain whether or not she was the Duncan. The Scotch yacht, too, was square-rigged. The question therefore was whether a smokestack could be seen between the two masts of the approaching vessel. She was now only ten miles off, and the horizon was clear. Ayrton looked for a moment, and then dropped his glass. “It is not the Duncan,” said he. Pencroff sighted the brig again, and made out that she was from 300 to 400 tons burden, and admirably built for sailing. To what nation she belonged no one could tell. “And yet,” added the sailor, “there’s a flag floating at her peak, but I can’t make out her colors.” “In half an hour we will know for certain,” answered the reporter. “Besides, it is evident that their captain means to run in shore, and to-day, or to-morrow at latest, we shall make her acquaintance.”