A STRANGER. 179
expected to come ashore somewhere between the latitudes of 27° and 30°; and by this stranger's showing he had made the latitude 25°; the discrepancy was not very great; it was not more than might be accounted for by the action of the currents, which he knew he had been unable to estimate; moreover, the deserted character of the whole shore inclined him to believe more easily that he was in Lower Bolivia.
Whilst this conversation was going on, Mrs. Weldon, whose suspicions had been excited by Negoro's disappearance, had been scrutinizing the stranger with the utmost attention; but she could detect nothing either in his manner or in his words to give her any cause to doubt his good faith.
"Pardon me," she said presently; "but you do not seem to me to be a native of Peru?"
"No; like yourself, I am an American, Mrs. — —;" he paused, as if waiting to be told her name. The lady smiled, and gave her name; he thanked her, and continued, —
"My name is Harris. I was born in South Carolina; but it is now twenty years since I left my home for the pampas of Bolivia; imagine, therefore, how much pleasure it gives me to come across some countrymen of my own."
"Do you live in this part of the province, Mr. Harris?" Mrs. Weldon asked.
"No, indeed; far away; I live down to the south, close to the borders of Chili. At present I am taking a journey north-eastwards to Atacama."
"Atacama!" exclaimed Dick; "are we anywhere near the desert of Atacama?"
"Yes, my young friend," rejoined Harris, "you are just on the edge of it. It extends far beyond those mountains which you see on the horizon, and is one of the most curious and least explored parts of the continent."
"And are you travelling through it alone?" Mrs. Weldon inquired.
" Yes, quite alone; and it is not the first time I have performed the journey. One of my brothers owns a large
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