time to time scanned the southern horizon, towards which their horizon-glasses were inclined.
"Noon," exclaimed the Captain, after a short time.
Immediately a steersman rang a bell on the bridge, and all the watches on board were regulated by the statement which had just been made.
Half-an-hour later, the following observation was posted up;—
Lat 51° 10′ N.
Long. 24° 13′ W.
Course, 227 miles. Distance 550.
We had thus made two hundred and twenty-seven miles since noon the day before.
I did not see Fabian once during the day. Several times, uneasy about his absence, I passed his cabin, and was convinced that he had not left it.
He must have wished to avoid the crowd on deck, and evidently sought to isolate himself from this tumult. I met Captain Corsican, and for an hour we walked on the poop. He often spoke of Fabian, and I could not help telling him what had passed between Fabian and myself the evening before.
"Yes," said Captain Corsican, with an emotion he did not try to disguise. "Two years ago Fabian had the right to think himself the happiest of men, and now he is the most unhappy." Archibald Corsican told me, in a few words, that
