aroused me from my dreaming. I trembled as if some invisible eye had read my most secret thoughts, and I hurriedly left the room.
In the saloon my eye fell upon the compass. We were still going north. The log indicated a moderate speed, the manometer gave a depth of about sixty feet. These circumstances were favourable for the Canadian’s plan.
I regained my room. I clothed myself warmly, sea-boots, a cap of otter-skin, a coat of byssus, lined with skin—I was ready—waiting. The vibrations of the screw alone broke the profound silence that reigned throughout the ship. I listened most attentively. Would no uproar tell me that Ned Land had failed? A mortal uneasiness was upon me. I in vain endeavoured to assume my usual coolness.
It was nearly nine o’clock; I put my ear close to the door of the captain’s room. No sound whatever! I left my room and entered the saloon, which was rather dark, but quite deserted.
I opened the door communicating with the library. The same semi-obscurity reigned here, but there was sufficient light. I placed myself close to the door opening to the central staircase. Here I awaited Ned Land’s signal.
At this moment the beatings of the screw diminished sensibly, then ceased altogether. Why this change in the pace of the Nautilus? Whether this stoppage would facilitate or prevent the designs of Ned Land, I could not imagine.
I could hear no sound but the throbbing of my heart. Suddenly a slight shock was felt, and I perceived that the Nautilus had grounded at the bottom of the ocean. My uneasiness increased, the Canadian made no sign. I had a great mind to join Ned Land, and induce him to forego
