“Yes, my poor boy, I knew that as soon as you arrived at these cross roads you would drop half dead, and I kept my last drop of water to reanimate you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” I said. Although my thirst was only partially quenched, yet some strength had returned. The muscles of my throat, until then contracted, now relaxed again; and the inflammation of my lips abated somewhat; and I was now able to speak.

“Let us see,” I said, “we have now but one thing to do. We have no water; we must go back.”

While I spoke my uncle avoided looking at me; he hung his head down; his eyes avoided mine.

“We must return,” I exclaimed vehemently; “we must go back on our way to Snæfells. May God give us strength to climb up the crater again!”

“Return!” said my uncle, as if he was rather answering himself than me.

“Yes, return, without the loss of a minute.”