“We search for our mysterious protector,” added Spilett, finishing the sentence. “Ah! we must confess, dear Cyrus, that, for once, his protection has failed us.” “We don’t know about that,” answered the engineer. “What do you mean?” asked the reporter. “We are not at the end of our troubles, my dear Spilett, and his powerful interference may still be exercised. But now we must think of Herbert.” Several days passed, and the poor boy’s condition was happily no worse; and to gain time was a great thing. The cold water, always kept at the proper temperature, had absolutely prevented the inflammation of the wounds. Nay, it seemed to the reporter that this water, which contained a little sulphur, due to the neighborhood of the volcano, had a direct tendency towards cicatrization. The suppuration was much less copious, and, thanks to excellent nursing, Herbert had returned to consciousness, and his fever had abated. He was, moreover, strictly dieted, and, of course, was very weak; but he had plenty of broths and gruels, and absolute rest was doing him great good. Smith, Spilett, and Pencroff had become very skilful in tending him. All the linen in the house had been sacrificed. The wounded parts, covered with lint and compresses, were subjected to just enough pressure to cicatrize them without bringing on a reaction of inflammation. The reporter dressed the wounds with the greatest care, repeating to his companions the medical axiom that good dressing is as rare as a good operation. At the end of ten days, by the 22d of November, Herbert was decidedly better. He had begun to take some nourishment. The color came back to his cheeks, and he smiled at his nurse. He talked a little, in spite of Pencroff, who chattered away all the time to keep the boy from saying a word, and told the most remarkable stories. Herbert inquired about Ayrton, and was surprised not to see him at the bedside; but the sailor, who would not distress his patient, answered merely that Ayrton had gone to be with Neb at Granite House in case the convicts attacked it. “Nice fellows they are,” said he. “To think that Mr. Smith wanted to appeal to their feelings! I’ll send them my compliments in a good heavy bullet!” “And nobody has seen them?” asked Herbert. “No, my boy,” answered the sailor, “but we will find them, and when you are well we shall see whether these cowards, who strike from behind, will dare to meet us face to face.” “I am still very weak, dear Pencroff.” “Oh! your strength will come back little by little. What’s a ball through the chest? Nothing to speak of. I have seen several of them, and feel no worse for it.” In fine, things were growing better, and it no unlucky complication occurred, Herbert’s cure might be regarded as certain. But what would have been the colonists’ situation if the ball had remained in his body, if his arm or leg had had to be amputated? They could not think of it without a shudder.