rders, she
follows him, stops when he turns, recommences to follow him, and, by
her supplicating looks and expressive gestures, seeks to obtain the
permission which he persists in refusing. At last Selkirk speaks
severely, and she submits, still protesting against it by her air of
sadness and depression. Was this, on her part, caprice or foresight?
No one has the secret of these inexplicable instincts, which sometimes
reveal to animals the presence of an invisible enemy, or the approach
of a disaster.

At evening, Selkirk had not returned! Marimonda passed the night in
awaiting him, uttering plaintive cries.

On the morrow the morning rolled away, then the day, then the night,
and the cabin remained deserted, and Marimonda in vain scaled the
trees and hills in the neighborhood to recover traces of her master.

What had become of him?

CHAPTER IX.

The Precipice.--A Dungeon in a Desert Island.--Resignation.--The passing
Bird.--The browsing Goat.--The bending Tree.--Attempts at Deliverance.
--Success.--Death of Marimonda.

In that sterile and mountainous quarter of the island to which he has
given the name of Stradling,--that name, importing to him
misfortune,--Selkirk, venturing in pursuit of a goat, has fallen from
a precipice.

Fortunately the cavity is not deep. After a transient swoon,
recovering his footing, experiencing only a general numbness, and some
pain caused by the contusions resulting from his fall, he bethinks
himself of the means of escape.

But a circle of sharp rocks, contracting from the base to the summit,
forms a tunnel over his head; no crevice, no precipitous ledge,
interrupts their fatal uniformity. Only around him some platforms of
sandy earth appear; he digs them with his knife, to form steps. Some
fragments of roots project here and there through the interstices of
the stones; he hopes to find a point of support by which to scale
these abrupt walls. The little solidity of the roots, which give way
in his grasp; his sufferings, which become more intense at every
effort; these thousand rocky heads bending at once over him; all tell
him plainly that it will be impossible for him to emerge from this
hole--that it is destined to be his tomb.

Poor young sailor, already condemned to isolation, separated from the
rest of mankind, could he have foreseen that one day his captivity was
to be still closer! that his steps would be chained, that the sight
even of his island would be int