e was looking on with profound calmness and
indifference. He appeared to be an unconcerned party, and yet he
perfectly well knew what was going on between us. Our gestures
sufficiently indicated the different roads each wished to follow--and
which each tried to influence the other to undertake. But Hans appeared
not to take the slightest interest in what was really a question of life
and death for us all, but waited quite ready to obey the signal which
should say go aloft, or to resume his desperate journey into the
interior of the earth.

How then I wished with all my heart and soul that I could make him
understand my words. My representations, my sighs and groans, the
earnest accents in which I should have spoken would have convinced that
cold, hard nature. Those fearful dangers and perils of which the stolid
guide had no idea, I would have pointed them out to him--I would have,
as it were, made him see and feel. Between us, we might have convinced
the obstinate Professor. If the worst had come to the worst, we could
have compelled him to return to the summit of Sneffels.

I quietly approached Hans. I caught his hand in mine. He never moved a
muscle. I indicated to him the road to the top of the crater. He
remained motionless. My panting form, my haggard countenance, must have
indicated the extent of my sufferings. The Icelander gently shook his
head and pointed to my uncle.

"Master," he said.

The word is Icelandic as well as English.

"The master!" I cried, beside myself with fury--"madman! no--I tell you
he is not the master of our lives; we must fly! we must drag him with
us! do you hear me? Do you understand me, I say?"

I have already explained that I held Hans by the arm. I tried to make
him rise from his seat. I struggled with him and tried to force him
away. My uncle now interposed.

"My good Henry, be calm," he said. "You will obtain nothing from my
devoted follower; therefore, listen to what I have to say."

I folded my arms, as well as I could, and looked my uncle full in the
face.

"This wretched want of water," he said, "is the sole obstacle to the
success of my project. In the entire gallery, made of lava, schist, and
coal, it is true we found not one liquid molecule. It is quite possible
that we may be more fortunate in the western tunnel."

My sole reply was to shake my head with an air of deep incredulity.

"Listen to me to the end," said the Professor in his well-known
lecturing voice