ten thousand fragments, which bounded down the sides of the mountain,
sparkling and groaning as they went. One of these, the largest
fragment, struck the narrow space of soil between the Englishman and the
guide, not three feet from the spot where the former stood. Merton
uttered an exclamation of terror, and Glyndon held his breath and
shuddered. "Diavolo!" cried the guide; "descend, Excellencies,
descend! We have not a moment to lose; follow me close."

So saying, the guide and the peasant fled with as much swiftness as they
were able to bring to bear. Merton, ever more prompt and ready than his
friend, imitated their example; and Glyndon, more confused than alarmed,
followed close. But they had not gone many yards before, with a rushing
and sudden blast, came from the crater an enormous volume of vapor. It
pursued, it overtook, it overspread them; it swept the light from the
heavens. All was abrupt and utter darkness, and through the gloom was
heard the shout of the guide, already distant, and lost in an instant
amidst the sound of the rushing gust and the groans of the earth
beneath. Glyndon paused. He was separated from his friend, from the
guide. He was alone with the Darkness and the Terror. The vapor rolled
sullenly away; the form of the plumed fire was again dimly visible, and
its struggling and perturbed reflection again shed a glow over the
horrors of the path. Glyndon recovered himself, and sped onward.
Below, he heard the voice of Merton calling on him, though he no longer
saw his form. The sound served as a guide. Dizzy and breathless, he
bounded forward, when hark! a sullen, slow, rolling sound in his ear!
He halted, and turned back to gaze. The fire had overflowed its course;
it had opened itself a channel amidst the furrows of the mountain. The
stream pursued him fast, fast, and the hot breath of the chasing and
preternatural foe came closer and closer upon his cheek. He turned
aside; he climbed desperately, with hands and feet, upon a crag that, to