"When our flasks are empty, where shall we fill them again? Can we tell that?" No; there was no certainty. "Well, let us allow the water to run on. It will flow down, and will both guide and refresh us." "That is well planned," I cried. "With this stream for our guide, there is no reason why we should not succeed in our undertaking." "Ah, my boy! you agree with me now," cried the Professor, laughing. "I agree with you most heartily." "Well, let us rest awhile; and then we will start again." I was forgetting that it was night. The chronometer soon informed me of that fact; and in a very short time, refreshed and thankful, we all three fell into a sound sleep. CHAPTER XXIV. WELL SAID, OLD MOLE! CANST THOU WORK I' THE GROUND SO FAST? By the next day we had forgotten all our sufferings. At first, I was wondering that I was no longer thirsty, and I was for asking for the reason. The answer came in the murmuring of the stream at my feet. We breakfasted, and drank of this excellent chalybeate water. I felt wonderfully stronger, and quite decided upon pushing on. Why should not so firmly convinced a man as my uncle, furnished with so industrious a guide as Hans, and accompanied by so determined a nephew as myself, go on to final success? Such were the magnificent plans which struggled for mastery within me. If it had been proposed to me to return to the summit of Snæfell, I should have indignantly declined. Most fortunately, all we had to do was to descend. "Let us start!" I cried, awakening by my shouts the echoes of the vaulted hollows of the earth. On Thursday, at 8 a.m., we started afresh. The granite tunnel winding from side to side, earned us past unexpected turns, and seemed almost to form a labyrinth; but, on the whole, its direction seemed to be south-easterly. My uncle never ceased to consult his compass, to keep account of the ground gone over. The gallery dipped down a very little way from the horizontal, scarcely more than two inches in a fathom, and the stream ran gently murmuring at our feet. I compared it to a friendly genius guiding us underground, and caressed with my hand the soft naiad, whose comforting voice accompanied our steps. With my reviving spirits these mythological notions seemed to come unbidden. As for my uncle, he was beginning to storm against the horizontal road. He loved nothing better than a vertical path; but this way seemed indefinitely prolonged, and instead of sliding along the hypothenuse as we were now doing, he would willingly have dropped down the terrestrial radius. But there was no help for it, and as long as we were approaching the centre at all we felt that we must not complain. From time to time, a steeper path appeared; our naiad then began to tumble before us with a hoarser murmur, and we went down with her to a greater depth. On the whole, that day and the next we made considerable way horizontally, very little vertically.