e
found his old acquaintance seated in a clean commodious room and reading
Aristotle's "History of Animals," the only volume of his library that he
had been permitted to carry with him. He welcomed Odo heartily, and on
the latter's enquiring what had brought him to this plight, replied with
some dignity that he had been led there in the fulfilment of his duty.

"Some months ago," he continued, "I was summoned hither to profess the
natural sciences in the University; a summons I readily accepted, since
I hoped, by the study of a volcanic soil, to enlarge my knowledge of the
globe's formation. Such in fact was the case, but to my surprise my
researches led me to adopt the views I had formerly combated, and I now
find myself in the ranks of the Vulcanists, or believers in the
secondary origin of the earth: a view you may remember I once opposed
with all the zeal of inexperience. Having firmly established every point
in my argument according to the Baconian method of investigation, I felt
it my duty to enlighten my scholars; and in the course of my last
lecture I announced the result of my investigations. I was of course
aware of the inevitable result; but the servants of Truth have no choice
but to follow where she calls, and many have joyfully traversed stonier
places than I am likely to travel."

Nothing could exceed the respect with which Odo heard this simple
confession of faith. It was as though the speaker had unconsciously
convicted him of remissness, of cowardice even; so vain and windy his
theorising seemed, judged by the other's deliberate act! Yet placed as
he was, what could he do, how advance their common end, but by passively
waiting on events? At least, he reflected, he could perform the trivial
service of trying to better his friend's case; and this he eagerly
offered to attempt. The doctor thanked him, but without any great
appearance of emotion: Odo was struck by the change which had
transformed a heady and intemperate speaker into a model of philosophic
calm. The doctor, indeed, seemed far more concerned for the safety of
his library and his cabinet of minerals than for his own. "Happily,"
said he, "I am not a man of family, and can therefore sacrifice my
liberty with a clear conscience: a fact I am the more thankful for when
I recall the moral distress of our poor friend Vivaldi, when compelled
to desert his post rather than be separated from his daughter."

The name brought the colour to Odo's brow,