blood. It is indeed a miracle," was the Professor's final remark, "that you were not killed a thousand times over. But let us take care never to separate; for surely we should risk never meeting again."
"Let us take care never again to separate." These words fell with a sort of chill upon my heart. The journey, then, was not over. I looked at my uncle with surprise and astonishment.
My uncle, after an instant's examination of my countenance, said—"What is the matter, Harry?"
"I want to ask you a very serious question. You say that I am all right in health?"
"Certainly you are."
"And all my limbs are sound and capable of new exertion?" I asked.
"Most undoubtedly."
"But what about my head?" was my next anxious question.
"Well, your head, except that you have one or two contusions, is exactly where it ought to be—on your shoulder," said my uncle, laughing.
"Well, my own opinion is that my head is not exactly right. In fact, I believe myself slightly delirious."
"What makes you think so?"
"I will explain why I fancy I have lost my senses," I cried, "have we not returned to the surface of mother earth?"
"Certainly not."
"Then truly I must be mad, for do I not see the light of day? do I not hear the whistling of the wind? and can I not distinguish the wash of a great sea?"
"And that is all that makes you uneasy?" said my uncle, with a smile.
"Can you explain?"
"I will not make any attempt to explain; for the whole matter is utterly inexplicable. But you shall see and judge for yourself. You will then find that geological science is as yet in its infancy—and that we are doomed to enlighten the world."
"Let us advance, then," I cried eagerly, no longer able to restrain my curiosity.
"Wait a moment, my dear Harry," he responded; "you
