him, and deepening into despair every minute. Never before had he so
clung to hope--never before had his soul been more indomitable in its
resolution, more vigorous in its strong self-assertion.

He stood there still waving his staff as though his life now depended
upon that dumb yet eloquent signal--as though, like Moses, as long as
his arms were erect, so long would he be able to triumph over the
assault of despair. Hours passed. Still no notice was taken of him.
Still the ship held on her course slowly, yet steadily, and no change of
direction, no movement of any kind whatever, showed that he had been
seen. What troubled him now was the idea that the ship did not come any
nearer. This at first he refused to believe, but at last he saw it
beyond doubt, for at length the hull was no longer visible above the
horizon.

The ship was now due north from the rock, sailing on a line directly
parallel with the island. It came no nearer. It was only passing by it.
And now Brandon saw that his last hope of attracting attention by the
signal was gone. The ship was moving onward to the west, and every
minute would make it less likely that those on board could see the rock.

During the hours in which he had watched the ship he had been busy
conjecturing what she might be, and from what port she might have come.
The direction indicated China almost undoubtedly. He depicted in his
mind a large, commodious, and swift ship, with many passengers on their
way back to England. He imagined pleasant society, and general
intercourse. His fancy created a thousand scenes of delightful
association with "the kindly race of men." All earthly happiness seemed
to him at that time to find its centre on board that ship which passed
before his eyes.