fractory rocks, of electricity, of magnetism, had modified the general
laws of nature, and had created for us a moderate temperature; for the
theory of the central fire, remained, in my eyes, the only explainable
one.

Were we, then, going to reach a position in which these phenomena were
to be carried out in all their rigor, and in which the heat would reduce
the rocks to a state of fusion?

Such was my not unnatural fear, and I did not conceal the fact from my
uncle. My way of doing so might be cold and heartless, but I could not
help it.

"If we are not drowned, or smashed into pancakes, and if we do not die
of starvation, we have the satisfaction of knowing that we must be
burned alive."

My uncle, in presence of this brusque attack, simply shrugged his
shoulders, and resumed his reflections--whatever they might be.

An hour passed away, and except that there was a slight increase in the
temperature no incident modified the situation.

My uncle at last, of his own accord, broke silence.

"Well, Henry, my boy," he said, in a cheerful way, "we must make up our
minds."

"Make up our minds to what?" I asked, in considerable surprise.

"Well--to something. We must at whatever risk recruit our physical
strength. If we make the fatal mistake of husbanding our little remnant
of food, we may probably prolong our wretched existence a few hours--but
we shall remain weak to the end."

"Yes," I growled, "to the end. That, however, will not keep us long
waiting."

"Well, only let a chance of safety present itself--only allow that a
moment of action be necessary--where shall we find the means of action
if we allow ourselves to be reduced to physical weakness by inanition?"

"When this piece of meat is devoured, Uncle, what hope will there remain
unto us?"

"None, my dear Henry, none. But will it do you any good to devour it
with your eyes? You appear to me to reason like one without will or
decision, like a being without energy."

"Then," cried I, exasperated to a degree which is scarcely to be
explained, "you do not mean to tell me--that you--that you--have not
lost all hope."

"Certainly not," replied the Professor with consummate coolness.

"You mean to tell me, Uncle, that we shall get out of this monstrous
subterranean shaft?"

"While there is life there is hope. I beg to assert, Henry, that as long
as a man's heart beats, as long as a man's flesh quivers, I do not allow
that a being gifted with thought