The Professor could make nothing of this. Though he had dissected many dead women, he knew very little of the hearts of live ones. A sense of shyness overpowered him, and he felt embarrassed, he could not tell why, at being thus left alone with Virginia. He lit a cigar and went out. Here was a to-do indeed, he thought. How would progress be possible if one half of Humanity misunderstood the other? He was thus musing, when suddenly a voice startled him; and in another moment a man came rushing up to him, with every demonstration of joy. 'Oh, my dear master! oh, emancipator of the human intellect! and is it indeed you? Thank God!----I beg pardon for my unspeakable blasphemy--I mean, thank circumstances over which I have no control.' It was one of the three curates, whom Paul had supposed drowned, but who now related how he had managed to swim ashore, despite the extreme length of his black clerical coat. 'These rags of superstition,' he said, 'did their best to drown me. But I survive in spite of them, to covet truth and to reject error. Thanks to your glorious teaching,' he went on, looking reverentially into the Professor's face, 'the very notion of an Almighty Father makes me laugh consumedly, it is so absurd and so immoral. Science, through your instrumentality, has opened my eyes. I am now an exact thinker.' 'Do you believe, said Paul, 'in solemn, significant, and unspeakably happy Humanity? 'I do,' said the curate, fervently. 'Whenever I think of Humanity, I groan and moan to myself out of sheer solemnity.' 'Then two thirds of Humanity,' said the Professor, 'are thoroughly enlightened. Progress will now go on smoothly.' At this moment Virginia came out, having rapidly recovered composure at the sound of a new man's voice. 'You here--you, too!' exclaimed the curate. 'How solemn, how significant! This is truly Providential----I mean this has truly happened through conformity to the laws of matter.' 'Well,' said Virginia, 'since we have a clergyman amongst us, we shall perhaps be able to get on.' CHAPTER VII. Things now took a better turn. The Professor ceased to feel shy; and proposed, when the curate had finished an enormous breakfast, that they should go down to the cutter, and bring up the things in it to the cottage. 'A few hours' steady progress,' he said, 'and the human race will command all the luxuries of civilisation--the glorious fruits of centuries of onward labour.' The three spent a very busy morning in examining and unpacking the luggage. The Professor found his favourite collection of modern philosophers; Virginia found a large box of knick-knacks, with which to adorn the cottage; and there was, too, an immense store of wine and of choice provisions. 'It is rather sad,' sighed Virginia, as she dived into a box of French chocolate-creams, 'to think that all the poor people are drowned that these things belonged to.'