I dipped my hand into the water and drew it out almost with a cry; it was nearly boiling.

We consulted a little thermometer we had -- the mercury stood at 123 degrees.

From the surface of the water rose a dense cloud of steam.

Alphonse groaned out that we were already in purgatory, which indeed we were, though not in the sense that he meant it.

Sir Henry suggested that we must be passing near the seat of some underground volcanic fire, and I am inclined to think, especially in the light of what subsequently occurred, that he was right.