dancing up and down on the swelling waters,
and, as I watched it, my heart changed once
more, and I shouted and shrieked for them to
come back.

XIII.

Alone, alone once more. Oh! that dreadful
word "alone." Perhaps I should never get
away from this horrible place; never, never
more! Fool! Coward! How I missed the
sound of human voices. How I listened for
human footsteps. How horribly lonely I was.
I prayed to God that they might land safely and
send off some means of rescue. I felt I could
not wait long; that a very short time would
elapse before I became in very truth mad. I went
up the rock and strained my aching eyes with
gazing across the bright blue waves. Night
came at last, beautiful, still, cloudless, and
moonlight, and still I sat and gazed at the sea,
listening in unutterable sadness to its moanings.
At length, cold, weary, and sad, I betook me to
my bed.

Unrefreshed, I woke in the morning, and, as
soon as breakfast was over, took my lonely
station once more on the rocks, and spent the
weary weary day in gazing over the sea. I
calculated that at least six days must elapse
before any vessel could come, yet I could not
leave my look-out. So passed the second day,
and so the third, and so the fourth, and so the
fifth. The sixth day came, and somewhat more
hopefully I took my station, waited and prayed,
and watched, but the daylight faded and night
came, and still no sign. So passed the seventh
day, and so dawned the eighth, and so died the
eighth, and so passed the ninth, and so came the
tenth. On the tenth day, I was scarcely
conscious. Still mechanically I sat and gazed over
the bright water of the cruel mocking sea.

At length, towards mid-day, I fancied I
discerned a small dark speck. But I had been
deceived so often, that I expected it to fade away
like all the rest. But no, it did not fade. I
looked again, and I looked again, and still it
was there, and surely increasing in size. I
rushed off for a few minutes into the forest,
and when I returned—there it was still; and
now I saw and knew it was a vessel coming
towards the island!

Nearer, nearer, and nearer. It was a small
schooner. Again I lighted my fire and watched
the smoke curl upwards in thick dense clouds.
A gun was fired. I could not hear the report. I
could only see the small puff of white smoke
fading slowly away.

What passed during the next few hours I
very dimly know. I have a faint idea that I
shouted, and danced, and whooped, and laughed,
and cried. I rushed again and again down
the rocks to my hut, and then again to the
rocks. Once I fell and rolled down, tearing my
clothes and skin, and bruising my hands and
knees, and finally finding myself in the sea,
whence with no small difficulty I emerged. Now,
a small boat rapidly approached the beach,
pulled by two men. I rushed down to meet
them. They grounded on the pebbles. One
figure leaped out, and rushed up to me, throwing
his arms about my neck, and rubbing his
nose against mine, crying all the time like a
child. I felt my hand grasped by the other,
and I saw before me my two native boys.

XIV.

I hastened to my hut, and, taking my blankets
and the things Monganui had left with me, I got
into the boat, and they quickly pulled me alongside
the schooner. From two English sailors in
her, I heard my own native tongue the first
time for nearly six months. How strangely it
sounded in my ears!

As soon as I got on board, they took me
below and gave me some tea. I remained on
deck all that night, scarcely able to realise the
events of the past few months. And so I sat
and watched, and thanked God through all the
watches of that most blessed night, too excited
to sleep, too thankful to do anything but return
Him my humble thanks for all His goodness.

Next day, in the early morning, we neared
land; there, were the ill-fated rocks;  there,
loomed up once more that dreadful Cape Brett;
a few hours and we should enter the bay.
We rounded the point, and once more I saw the
houses on the beach. Strangely they seemed
to sway to and fro—strangely a mist came
before my eyes. There was the well-known
pier, and on it a number of faces, dark and
white, all eagerly looking towards our small
vessel as she swept up the bay. Once more I
got into the boat, and was rowed rapidly towards
the pier. I reached the steps, and a loud and
deafening cheer saluted my ears. I looked up, I
saw a face I well knew, I heard a voice I dearly
loved. I heard and saw no more. As I tried
to mount the last step of the pier I fell down
on my face, and when I came to myself I found
myself in bed in my friend's house, and a doctor
sitting at my side—once more, thank God, at
home!

MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S NEW READINGS.

On Saturday Evening, May 17th, at ST. JAMES'S HALL,
Piccadilly, at 8 o'clock precisely,
Mr. CHARLES DICKENS will read his
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY
AT MR. SQUEERS'S SCHOOL,
AND
BOOTS AT THE HOLLY-TREE INN,
AND
MR. BOB SAWYER'S PARTY,
FROM PICKWICK.
And on Wednesday Afternoon, May 21st, at 3,
Mr. CHARLES DICKENS will read his
DAVID COPPERFIELD.
This is THE LAST AFTERNOON READING.