CHAPTER XIII.
LEFT ALONE.
Yes, 'twill be over soon,--This sickly dream Of life will vanish from my brain; And death my wearied spirit will redeem From this wild region of unvaried pain.
-- WHITE.
For fifteen years John Stevens and Blanche Holmes had lived on the Island of Desolation, and in all that time not a sign of a sail had appeared on the vast ocean.

Not a sight of a human being had greeted their eyes, and they had become somewhat reconciled to the idea of passing their lives on this island.

The soil in the valley was fertile and yielded abundance to moderate tillage.

John studied the seasons and knew when to plant to receive the benefits of the rains.

There was no winter in this tropical clime, the rainy season taking the place of winter.