od. He
felt an indescribable sensation somewhat akin to dread--that dread of
the daylight which even in the desert makes us fear we are watched and
observed. This feeling was so strong that at the moment when Edmond was
about to begin his labor, he stopped, laid down his pickaxe, seized his
gun, mounted to the summit of the highest rock, and from thence gazed
round in every direction.

But it was not upon Corsica, the very houses of which he could
distinguish; or on Sardinia; or on the Island of Elba, with its
historical associations; or upon the almost imperceptible line that to
the experienced eye of a sailor alone revealed the coast of Genoa
the proud, and Leghorn the commercial, that he gazed. It was at the
brigantine that had left in the morning, and the tartan that had just
set sail, that Edmond fixed his eyes. The first was just disappearing
in the straits of Bonifacio; the other, following an opposite direction,
was about to round the Island of Corsica. This sight reassured him. He
then looked at the objects near him. He saw that he was on the highest
point of the island,--a statue on this vast pedestal of granite, nothing
human appearing in sight, while the blue ocean beat against the base of
the island, and covered it with a fringe of foam. Then he descended with
cautious and slow step, for he dreaded lest an accident similar to that
he had so adroitly feigned should happen in reality.

Dantes, as we have said, had traced the marks along the rocks, and he
had noticed that they led to a small creek, which was hidden like the
bath of some ancient nymph. This creek was sufficiently wide at its
mouth, and deep in the centre, to admit of the entrance of a small
vessel of the lugger class, which would be perfectly concealed from
observation.

Then following the clew that, in the hands of the Abbe Faria, had
been so skilfully used to guide him through the Daedalian labyrinth of
probabilities, he thought that the Cardinal Spada, anxious not to be
watched, had entered the creek, concealed his little barque, followed
the line marked by the notches in the rock, and at the end of it had
buried his treasure. It was this idea that had brought Dantes back to
the circular rock. One thing only perplexed Edmond, and destroyed his
theory. How could this rock, which weighed several tons, have been
lifted to this spot, without the aid of many men? Suddenly an idea
flashed across his mind. Instead of raising it, thought he, they