ll, and this
Clewe was not willing to construct. In fact, rather than make a new
opening to the cave of light, he would prefer that people should doubt
that any such cave existed. The more he thought of his own descent into
that great cleft, the more he thought of the horrible danger of sliding
down some invisible declivity to awful, unknown regions; the more he
thought of the mysterious death of Rovinski, the more firmly did he
determine that not by his agency should a human being descend again to
those mysterious depths. He would do all that he could to enable men to
see into the interior of this earth, but he would do nothing to help any
man to get there.

The controversies in regard to their discoveries and theory disturbed
Roland and Margaret not a whit; they worked steadily, with energy and
zeal, and, above all, they worked without that dreadful cloud which so
frequently overhangs the laborer in new fields--the fear that the means
of labor will disappear before the object of the work shall come in
view.

One morning in the early summer, Roland rushed into the room where
Margaret sat.

"I have made a discovery!" he exclaimed. "Come quickly, I want to show
it to you!"

The heart of the young wife sank. During all these happy days the only
shadow that ever flitted across her sky was the thought that some novel
temptation of science might turn her husband from the great work to
which he had dedicated himself. Much that he had purposed to do, he had,
at her earnest solicitation, set aside in favor of what she considered
the greatest task to which a human being could give his time, his labor,
and his thought. It had been long since she had heard her husband speak
of a new discovery, and the words chilled her spirit.

"Come," he said, "quickly!" And, taking her by the hand, he led her out
upon the lawn.

Over the soft green turf, under the beautiful trees, by the bright
flowers of the parterres and through the natural beauty of the charming
park, he led her; but not a word did she say of the soft colors and the
soft air. Not a flower did she look at. It seemed to her as if she trod
a bleak and stony road. She dreaded what she might hear, what she might
see.

He led her hastily through a gate in the garden wall; they passed
through the garden, and, whispering to her to step lightly, they entered
a quiet, shady spot beyond the house grounds.

"This way," he whispered. "Stoop down. Do you see that shining thing