rived on the field of battle; but Herbert, clinging to him, cried, "No, no! you shall not go!"
Harding advanced towards the stranger, who frowned when he saw him approaching. The blood flowed from his shoulder under his torn shirt, but he took no notice of it.
"My friend," said Cyrus Harding, we have just contracted a debt of gratitude to you. To save our boy you have risked your life!"
"My life!" murmured the stranger. "What is that worth? Less than nothing!"
"You are wounded?"
"It is no matter."
"Will you give me your hand?"
And as Herbert endeavored to seize the hand which had just saved him, the stranger folded his arms, his chest heaved, his look darkened, and he appeared to wish to escape; but making a violent effort over himself, and in an abrupt tone, "Who are you?" he asked; "and what do you claim to be to me?"
It was the colonists' history which he thus demanded, and for the first time. Perhaps this history recounted, he would tell his own.
In a few words Harding related all that had happened since their departure from Richmond; how they had managed, and what resources they now had at their disposal.
The stranger listened with extreme attention. Then the engineer told who they all were, Gideon Spilett, Herbert, Pencroft, Neb, himself; and he added, that the greatest happiness they had felt since their arrival in Lincoln Island was on the return of the vessel from Tabor Island, when they had been able to include amongst them a new companion.
At these words the stranger's face flushed, his head sunk on his breast, and confusion showed on his countenance.
"And now that you know us," added Cyrus Harding, "will you give us your hand?"
"No," replied the stranger in a hoarse voice; "no! You are honest men, you! And I———"
