CHAPTER XXI.
A HECATOMB.
The style of address, the unexpected scene, this history of a ship of my country—so coldly told at first—then the emotion with which the strange individual had pronounced the last words, the significance of the name, Avenger, were all impressed deeply upon my mind. My gaze did not quit the captain. He, with outstretched hands, was watching with glittering eyes the glorious wreck. Perhaps I should never know who he was, whence he came, or whither he went; but I know that the man disengaged himself from the savant. It was no ordinary misanthropy that had caused Captain Nemo to hide himself, with his companions, in the Nautilus; but a hatred, whether monstrous or sublime, that time could not enfeeble.
Did this hatred still demand vengeance? The future would disclose this.
Meanwhile the Nautilus rose slowly, and the confused forms of the Avenger disappeared by degrees. A slight rolling motion indicated our arrival at the surface.
At that moment a dull roar was heard. I looked at the captain; he did not stir.
