When we came to the surface to renew the air, the panels opened and shut mechanically. There were no more marks on the planisphere. I knew not where we were. And the Canadian, too, his strength and patience at an end, appeared no more. Conseil could not draw a word from him; and, fearing that, in a dreadful fit of madness, he might kill himself, watched him with constant devotion. One morning (what date it was I could not say) I had fallen into a heavy sleep towards the early hours, a sleep both painful and unhealthy, when I suddenly awoke. Ned Land was leaning over me, saying, in a low voice, “We are going to fly.” I sat up. “When shall we go?” I asked. “To-night. All inspection on board the Nautilus seems to have ceased. All appear to be stupefied. You will be ready, sir?” “Yes; where are we?” “In sight of land. I took the reckoning this morning in the fog—twenty miles to the east.” “What country is it?” “I do not know; but, whatever it is, we will take refuge there.” “Yes, Ned, yes. We will fly to-night, even if the sea should swallow us up.” “The sea is bad, the wind violent, but twenty miles in that light boat of the Nautilus does not frighten me. Unknown to the crew, I have been able to procure food and some bottles of water.” “I will follow you.”