CHAPTER XXV
THE UNKNOWN
AYLIGHT, for which Dantès had so waited with open eyes, again dawned. With the first beams of day Dantès rose, climbed, as on the previous evening, up the most elevated precipices of the island, to search the horizon around, but, as on previous evening, all was deserted.
Returning to the entrance of the cave, he raised the stone, filled his pockets with precious stones, put the box together as well as he could, covered with earth which he trod down, sprinkled fresh sand over the spot to give it everywhere a similar appearance; then, quitting the grotto, he replaced the stone, heaping on it large and small rocks, filling the interstices with earth, into which he planted wild myrtle and flowering thorn; then carefully watering these new plantations, he scrupulously effaced every trace of foot-mark and impatiently awaited the return of his companions. To wait at Monte-Cristo for the purpose of watching, as a dragon watches a useless treasure, over the most incalculable riches that had thus fallen into his possession satisfied not the cravings of his heart, which yearned to return to dwell among mankind, and to assume the rank, power, and influence which wealth, the first and greatest force at the disposal of man, alone can bestow.
On the sixth day the smugglers returned. From a distance Dantès recognized the cut and manner of sailing of La Jeune Amélie, and dragging himself, like wounded Philoctetes, toward the landing-place, he met his companions with an assurance that, although considerably better, he still suffered. He then inquired how they had fared in their trip. The smugglers had, indeed, been successful in landing their cargo, but they had scarcely done so when they received intelligence that a guardship had just quitted the port of Toulon, and was crowding all sail toward them; this obliged them to fly with all speed; when they could
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