At two o'clock in the afternoon every trace of land had disappeared
behind the "Pilgrim." Forward, the telescope could not seize any
outline whatsoever of a coast, high or low.

Then a cry escaped Dick Sand. Immediately leaving the deck, he rushed
into the cabin, where Mrs. Weldon was with little Jack, Nan, and Cousin
Benedict.

"An island! That was only an island!" said he.

"An island, Dick! but what?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"The chart will tell us," replied the novice.

And running to his berth, he brought the ship's chart.

"There, Mrs. Weldon, there!" said he. "That land which we have seen, it
can only be this point, lost in the middle of the Pacific! It can only
be the Isle of Paques; there is no other in these parts."

"And we have already left it behind?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Yes, well to the windward of us."

Mrs. Weldon looked attentively at the Isle of Paques, which only formed
an imperceptible point on the chart.

"And at what distance is it from the American coast?"

"Thirty-five degrees."