The Secret Cave.

           Thesunhadnearlyreachedthemeridian,andhisscorchingraysfellfullontherocks,whichseemedthemselvessensibleoftheheat.Thousandsofgrasshoppers,hiddeninthebushes,chirpedwithamonotonousanddullnote;theleavesofthemyrtleandolivetreeswavedandrustledinthewind.AteverystepthatEdmondtookhedisturbedthelizardsglitteringwiththehuesoftheemerald;afaroffhesawthewildgoatsboundingfromcragtocrag.Inaword,theislandwasinhabited,yetEdmondfelthimselfalone,guidedbythehandofGod.Hefeltanindescribablesensationsomewhatakintodreadthatdreadofthedaylightwhicheveninthedesertmakesusfearwearewatchedandobserved.ThisfeelingwassostrongthatatthemomentwhenEdmondwasabouttobeginhislabor,hestopped,laiddownhispickaxe,seizedhisgun,mountedtothesummitofthehighestrock,andfromthencegazedroundineverydirection.

           ButitwasnotuponCorsica,theveryhousesofwhichhecoulddistinguish;oronSardinia;orontheIslandofElba,withitshistoricalassociations;oruponthealmostimperceptiblelinethattotheexperiencedeyeofasailoralonerevealedthecoastofGenoatheproud,andLeghornthecommercial,thathegazed.Itwasatthebrigantinethathadleftinthemorning,andthetartanthathadjustsetsail,thatEdmondfixedhiseyes.ThefirstwasjustdisappearinginthestraitsofBonifacio;theother,followinganoppositedirection,wasabouttoroundtheIslandofCorsica.Thissightreassuredhim.

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