the hermit was bending over the large book with his massive brow resting
on the palms of both hands, and his fingers thrust into his iron-grey
hair. It was evident, however, that he was not reading the book at that
moment, for on its pages was lying what seemed to be a miniature or
photograph case, at which he gazed intently. Nigel roused himself to
consider this, and in doing so again dropped off--not yet soundly,
however, for curiosity induced one more violent struggle, and he became
aware of the fact that the hermit was on his knees with his face buried
in his hands.

The youth's thoughts must have become inextricably confused at this
point, yet their general drift was indicated by the muttered words:
"I--I'm glad o' that--a good sign--an'--an' it's _not_ th'
Encyclop----." Here Morpheus finally conquered, and he sank into
dreamless repose.

How long this condition lasted he could not tell, but he was awakened
violently by sensations and feelings of dread, which were entirely new
to him. The bed on which he rested seemed to heave under him, and his
ears were filled by sharp rattling sounds, something like--yet very
different from--the continuous roll of musketry.

Starting up, he sprang into the large cavern where he found Van der Kemp
quietly tightening his belt and Moses hastily pulling on his boots.

"Sometin's bu'sted an' no mistake!" exclaimed the latter.

"An eruption from one of the cones," said the hermit. "I have been for a
long time expecting it. Come with us."