"Take the lantern and throw the light everywhere."
The Doctor took the second lantern in. He felt with his hand and pickaxe all round in every corner of the rock. He threw the last blade of straw out, and the last remnant of the bag. There was nothing of the manuscript to be seen--not a page, not a letter.
The Professor looked at the cover.
"They have torn it out," he said, in a faint voice; "probably the monks took the Roman Emperor in ivory for a saint."
He held the cover to the light. On the inner side of one of the pieces, amidst dust and decay, might be read, in old monkish writing, the words:
"THE TRAVELS OF THE SILENT MAN."
The silent man was now drawn from his hiding-place. But he spoke not: his mouth remained mute for ever.
"Our dream is at an end," said the Professor, composedly. "The monks have torn out the text from the cover, and left it behind; there was no more room for the manuscript in the crowded bag. The treasure is lost to science. Our hand touches what was once the cover of the manuscript, and we cannot help having the bitter feeling of sorrow for what is irreparable, the same as if it had passed away in our sight. But we return to the light in possession of our faculties, and must do our duty in making available to our generation, and those who come after us, what remains."
"Was this genius called Bachhuber?" exclaimed Mr. Hummel; "judging from appearances, he was an ass."
The Proprietor laid his hand on the shoulder of his son-in-law.