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boiling lava--all of which must have come up by the road we were now
following. I could imagine the torrents of hot seething stone darting
on, bubbling up with accompaniments of smoke, steam, and sulphurous
stench!

"Only to think of the consequences," I mused, "if the old volcano were
once more to set to work."

I did not communicate these rather unpleasant reflections to my uncle.
He not only would not have understood them, but would have been
intensely disgusted. His only idea was to go ahead. He walked, he slid,
he clambered over piles of fragments, he rolled down heaps of broken
lava, with an earnestness and conviction it was impossible not to
admire.

At six o'clock in the evening, after a very wearisome journey, but one
not so fatiguing as before, we had made six miles towards the southward,
but had not gone more than a mile downwards.

My uncle, as usual, gave the signal to halt. We ate our meal in
thoughtful silence, and then retired to sleep.

Our arrangements for the night were very primitive and simple. A
traveling rug, in which each rolled himself, was all our bedding. We had
no necessity to fear cold or any unpleasant visit. Travelers who bury
themselves in the wilds and depths of the African desert, who seek
profit and pleasure in the forests of the New World, are compelled to
take it in turn to watch during the hours of sleep; but in this region
of the earth absolute solitude and complete security reigned supreme.

We had nothing to fear either from savages or from wild beasts.

After a night's sweet repose, we awoke fresh and ready for action. There
being nothing to detain us, we started on our journey. We continued to
burrow through the lava tunnel as before. It was impossible to make out
through what soil we were making way. The tunnel, moreover, instead of
going down into the bowels of the earth, became absolutely horizontal.

I even thought, after some examination, that we were actually tending
upwards. About ten o'clock in the day this state of things became so
clear that, finding the change very fatiguing, I was obliged to slacken
my pace and finally come to a halt.

"Well," said the Professor quickly, "what is the matter?"

"The fact is, I am dreadfully tired," was my earnest reply.

"What," cried my uncle, "tired after a three hours' walk, and by so easy
a road?"

"Easy enough, I dare say, but very fatiguing."

"But how can that be, when all we have to do is to go downwards."

"I beg your pardon, sir. For some time I have noticed that we are going
upwards."

"Upwards," cried my uncle, shrugging his shoulders, "how can that be?"

"There can be no doubt about it. For the last half hour the slopes have
been upward--and if we go on in this way much longer we shall find
ourselves back in Iceland."

My uncle shook his head with the air of a man who does not want to be
convinced. I tried to continue the conversation. He would not answer me,

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