The most desperate venture of the travellers was amid the wrecks of an extinct volcano.  It seemed here as if the genius of fire had striven to outdo the grotesque extravagances of the genii of the waters.  Crags, towers, and pinnacles of porphyry were mingled with huge convoluted masses of light brown trachyte, of tufa either pure white or white veined with crimson, of black and gray columnar basalts, of red, orange, green, and black scoria, with adornments of obsidian, amygdaloids, rosettes of quartz crystal and opalescent chalcedony.  A thousand stony needles lifted their ragged points as if to defy the lightning.  The only vegetation was a spiny cactus, clinging closely to the rocks, wearing their grayish and yellowish colors, lending no verdure to the scene, and harmonizing with its thorny inhospitality.

As the travellers gazed on this wilderness of scorched summits, glittering in the blazing sunlight, and yet drawing from it no life—­as stark, still, unsympathizing, and cruel as death—­they seemed to themselves to be out of the sweet world of God, and to be in the power of malignant genii and demons.  The imagination cannot realize the feeling of depression which comes upon one who finds himself imprisoned in such a landscape.  Like uttermost pain, or like the extremity of despair, it must be felt in order to be known.

“It seems as if Satan had chosen this land for himself,” was the perfectly serious and natural remark of Thurstane.

Clara shuddered; the same impression was upon her mind; only she felt it more deeply than he.  Gentle, somewhat timorous, and very impressionable, she was almost overwhelmed by the terrific revelations of a nature which seemed to have no pity, or rather seemed full of malignity.  Many times that day she had prayed in her heart that God would help them.  Apparently detached from earth, she was seeking nearness to heaven.  Her look at this moment was so awe-struck and piteous, that the soul of the man who loved her yearned to give her courage.

“Miss Van Diemen, it shall all turn out well,” he said, striking his fist on the pommel of his saddle.

“Oh! why did we come here?” she groaned.

“I ought to have prevented it,” he replied, angry with himself.  “But never mind.  Don’t be troubled.  It shall all be right.  I pledge my life to bring it all to a good end.”

She gave him a look of gratitude which would have repaid him for immediate death.  This is not extravagant; in his love for her he did not value himself; he had the sublime devotion of immense adoration.

That night another loamy nook was found, clothed with a little thin grass, but waterless.  Some of the animals suffered so with thirst that they could not graze, and uttered doleful whinneys of distress.  As it was the Lieutenant’s tour on guard, he had plenty of time to study the chances of the morrow.

“Kelly, what do you think of the beasts?” he said to the old soldier who acted as his sergeant.