As for the priestess, she lay reclining under a golden canopy on the poop, with her face half turned towards the people, and holding the sacred lily in her hand, whilst two of her maidens fanned her with brilliant plumes,

"And made their bends adorning."

Ever since she had come out of the temple I had scarcely taken my eyes off her, and now that I could see the marvellous beauty of her countenance, I was absolutely fascinated. Never shall I forget these moments as long as I live, and yet I cannot give a clear and connected relation of them. I see only a picture in my mind of a purple couch under a golden canopy, a fair form, a beautiful head crowned with golden hair, a glowing arm holding a white flower on its long green stalk. Suddenly, as if impelled by an instinct, she turns her face full upon me as the barge comes opposite to her father's throne. I see her great violet eyes fixed upon mine as though she would read into my very soul. I do not shrink from that pure search. On the contrary, I feel myself drawn towards her by an irresistible attraction, and return her gaze.

She does not look away. She smiles—yes, she smiles upon me, and inclines her head to see me, like a sunflower following the sun, as she is floating past.

From that moment I was an altered man. The vision of that peerless beauty had worked a miracle in my nature. A strange peace, an unfathomable joy, I should rather say an ecstacy of bliss, reigned in my heart. I felt that I had found something for which my soul had craved without knowing it, and had been seeking unawares—something beyond all price, which is not merely the best that life, eternity, can offer; but gives to life, eternity, an inestimable value—I felt that I had found the counterpart of myself—the celestial mate of my spirit. Henceforth there was only one woman in the world, in the universe, for me. A mysterious instinct whispered that we belonged to each other—that this incomparable creature was mine by an inviolable right, if not on this side of time at all events hereafter, and for ever. I felt, too, that my own being had now completed its development, and burst into bloom like a plant under the vivifying rays of the sun.

Exulting in my new-found happiness, and overcome with gratitude for it, I watched the receding boat in a sort of trance until the matter-of-fact voice of Gazen broke the spell.

"Prettiest sight I ever saw in my life," said he to Otare. "Quite a living picture."

"I am glad you like it," responded Otare evidently gratified.

"But what is the good of it?" enquired the professor.

"The good of it?" rejoined the Venusian; "it is beautiful, and gives us pleasure."

"Oh, of course; but what is the meaning—the inner meaning of it?"

"Ah! the meaning of it," said Otare, a new light breaking on him, "I will explain. You saw the flower which the priestess cut and carried in her hand—?"

"A kind of water-lily, is it not?"

"Yes, it is the Sacred Lily. The plant is rooted in the mire at the bottom of the pond, and grows up through the water to the surface. The stem rises in a serpentine curve, and terminates in a flower-bud, which opens with a sigh of delight when the sun strikes upon it, and fills the air with its perfume."

"A sigh, did you say?"

"Yes, a low sweet sound resembling a sigh. The flower is white—'living white'—that is to say, white shot with many colours like the opal. We call it the Sun Lily, or 'Flower of the Soul.'"

"Why 'Flower of the Soul?'"

"Because we say it has the infinite and ever-changing beauty of the soul. It is an emblem of Love, and its manifestations—beauty, genius, holiness. In particular it signifies the birth or awakening of love in the human soul. As the plant may be said to exist for the flower, its chief glory, so the man attains his perfection through love, which confers a boundless and immortal worth upon his life. As the root takes from the soil and the flower brings forth the fruit, so hate feeds upon the ill, and love dies for the good of others. It also represents the human race, for man, and especially woman, may be regarded as the flower of this lower world. Moreover, the entire plant, root, stem, and flower, is symbolical of all creation, and some of our poets have named it the 'Lily of Life.' For as the plant begins in the black earth to end in the sunny ether, so the world, the universe, begins in chaos and darkness, to end in light and order; begins in matter and force, to end in life and spirit—begins in hate and selfishness, to end in love and self-sacrifice—begins in ugliness, to end in beauty. Thus the flower and root stand for the upper and lower limits or poles of nature, and the stalk which joins them for the upward range or path of creation. It is a beautiful stem, curving in opposite ways like a serpent, or the side of a wave; in fact, it is the most beautiful curve we know—it runs like this."

Here Otare described a flamboyant curve in the air with his finger.

"If I'm not mistaken it is what our artists call the 'line of beauty,'" observed Gazen.

"Oh, indeed!" responded Otare, with pleased surprise. "Well, with us it is a symbol of the continuous unfolding of things; the graceful progress of development."

"So the path of evolution is the 'line of beauty,'" said the professor.

"Apparently," rejoined Otare, "and as the ends of the curve point oppositely, we say that a thing has not reached its final stage—that its development is not complete—until it has turned to its opposite. Thus man is not a finished being until hate and selfishness have turned to love and self-sacrifice. The flower of the soul is love, and as the sun is an emblem of the divine love, when the sacred lily opens and displays all its beauty in the sunshine, it means to us that the flower of the soul blooms in the smile of 'The Giver.'"

"I see," said the professor; "and what is done with the flower?"

"It is an offering," replied Otare, "and after the Priestess of the Lily, or Priestess of the Sun, as we call her, has shown it to the people it will be treasured in the temple, and will never fade."

"Beautiful woman, the priestess! And so young."

"She is barely seventeen. The Priestess of the Sun Lily must be in the flower of her age, and the early dawn of her womanhood. Every year by the popular voice she is chosen from all the maidens of the country for her intelligence, beauty, and goodness. For a year before the ceremony she lives in the temple with her maidens, and never leaves the sacred island, or has any visitors from the outer world. During this period she undergoes a preparation and purification for the fulfilment of her holy office—the culling of the flower. It consists mainly in the study of our sacred writings, the eating of a certain food, and bathing in the waters of a holy fountain, which issues from the rock in a sacred grotto of the island. When the ceremony of cutting the lily is over, and the holy month has expired, that is to say in ten days from now, she will leave the temple and return to her family. Another girl will take her place—the priestess appointed for the coming year—in fact, the maiden who gave her the sickle."

I had listened to this conversation with breathless interest, but without daring to take part in it.

"Will she ever marry?" enquired Gazen.

I waited for the answer with a beating heart.

"Oh, yes," replied Otare, "why not? She will marry if she finds a lover whom she can love. There are many who admire Alumion."

"What of yourself?" asked the professor, smiling pointedly. "You seem to know a good deal about her."

"I am her brother."

Nothing more was said, for at this moment the barge was seen coming from behind the temple, after having made a round of the spectators, and presently drew up at the marble stairs. Again the doors swung open, and the maidens reappeared to welcome their mistress with a song of joy. I saw her ascend the steps bearing the lily in her hand, then turn and wave an adieu to the multitude, who responded by a parting hymn as the great purple valves closed together and rapt her from my sight.



CHAPTER X.

ALUMION.

Alumion—Alumion—I could think of nothing but Alumion. Her very name was music in my ears, and her image in my heart was a perpetual banquet of delight I had never known such felicity before. My inclination for Miss Carmichael and every other transient affection or interest I may have felt was altogether of a lower strain—with one exception, a boyish admiration for a school girl who died a mere child. The ethereal flame of this new passion seemed to purify all that was earthly, and exalt all that was celestial in my nature. This beautiful land, so green and smiling under a sky of serene azure and snowy wreaths, became as the highest heaven to me, and I wandered about in a dream of ecstacy like one of the blessed gods inebriated with nectar.

I avoided my travelling companions. Their worldly conversation jarred on the mood I was in, and I preferred my own thoughts to their pursuits. As my sole desire was to hear about Alumion, and if possible to see her again, I courted the society of Dinus and Otare. I knew, of course, that in ten days she would return to her family, but I thought I might be able to visit the temple and perhaps get a glimpse of her. However, I learned from her father that during the sacred festival the temple was closed to the outer world. It was not indeed forbidden to land on the holy island, but it was considered a sacrilege for anyone not having business there to enter the precincts of the temple, excepting on the day of the ceremony which had just taken place. While bound to respect this taboo, I was, nevertheless, drawn by an irresistible attraction to the island, where I frequently spent hours in sailing about the wooded shores, or loitering in the sacred avenue, hoping against hope that I might see her passing by or in the distance. Although I was not so fortunate, I enjoyed the satisfaction of being nearer to her, and as the island seemed a perfect solitude, I could indulge my reverie in peace.

At last I made a discovery. In describing the ceremony of the Flower, Otare had spoken of a sacred grotto where the priestess went to bathe, and on questioning him further, I ascertained that it was situated on the shore of the island in a bay or inlet to the eastward of the quay, and that she took her customary bath at set of sun.

That afternoon I made a thorough search and found a cavern in the rock close to the beach of a secluded cove which I had overlooked until then. A footpath, winding down the mountain side through the forest led to its mouth, which was overhung and almost hid by a rich creeper with large crimson blossoms. It was evidently the spot mentioned by Otare, but wishing to make sure, and impelled by curiosity in spite of a more hallowed feeling, I lifted the creeper and was about to peer into the darkness, when a sudden noise within made me jump back with affright. It was the most horrible and excruciating shriek I had ever heard in my life. If anyone by a refinement of cruelty were to compound a torture for the ears, I do not think he could produce anything half so piercing, gruesome, and discordant.

It seemed the cry of an animal—a wild beast—and I began to think I was mistaken in the place; but the sun was near its setting now, and it was too late to seek further afield. I therefore returned to my boat and withdrew under the overarching boughs of some trees where I could see without being seen.

I had not long to wait. Between the flowering shrubs I noticed that a figure—a woman by her undulating grace—was coming down the path. A thin wrap or veil of changing stuff, with gleams of azure and fiery red, was flung about her person. Presently she stepped upon the beach into the mellow gloaming, and stood like a statue, with her eyes bent on the sinking orb, which threw a trail of splendour across the lake.

It was the priestess, and apparently alone. A closer view of her person brought me no disenchantment. Perfect beauty, like the sublime, produces an impression of the infinite, and I only speak the literal truth when I say that she appeared infinitely beautiful to me. Her golden hair, rippling over the delicate ear and gathered into a knot behind, her large violet eyes and blooming white skin, her Grecian profile and stately yet flowing form, might have become an Aphrodite of Xeuxis or Praxiteles; but her serene and gracious countenance beamed with a pure seraphic light which is wanting to the classical goddess, and must be sought in the Madonnas of Raphael. Moreover, she had an indescribable look of girlish innocence, winsome sweetness, and pitiful tenderness, which belonged to none of these ideals, and marked her as a simple, loving, perishable child of earth.

I gazed upon her marvellous beauty with a kind of religious veneration, at once attracted by her womanly charm and awed by her god-like dignity, yet with a strange, a divine state of repose and pure rapture in my heart for which there is no name.

Would that the happiness, the bliss of looking upon her, of being near her, might have lasted for ever!

I knew, however, that she would soon enter the grotto and be lost to me. Should I speak? In this fraternal community what was there to prevent it? Something held me back. Otare had said that the priestess was isolated from the outer world during her year of office; but that was only a general statement. Mine was a peculiar case. I was a stranger. I did not belong to their world, and was not supposed to know the ins and outs of their customs. Besides, why should custom stand between such a love as mine and its object? Conventional propriety was for the pitiful earth and its wretched abortive passions. Perhaps I should frighten her? No, I did not believe it. In this golden land even the birds seemed fearless. As well think to frighten an angel in Heaven.

While I was debating the question within myself she glanced into the foliage where I was hidden. How my heart throbbed! I fancied that she saw me, and trembled with emotion; but I was mistaken, for she turned and walked towards the cavern.

Suddenly I remembered the alarming sound within the cave, and breaking through the covert, called after her.

"Take care, take care! There is a wild beast in the grotto. I heard it cry."

She looked round and started when she saw me. The surprise, visible on her face, seemed to melt into recognition.

"It is kind of you to warn me," she responded with a frank smile, "but I am not in danger. There is no wild animal inside."

Her low sweet voice was quite in keeping with her beauty. Every note rung clear and melodious as a bell.

"But the awful cry?" I rejoined with a puzzled air.

"Was that of a particular pet of mine," she answered laughingly.

"Pardon me," said I smiling for company, "I am a stranger here, as you can see, and did not know any better."

"You are one of the travellers from another world, are you not?"

"Ah! you have heard of our arrival."

"Oh yes! An event so important was not kept from me. I saw you sitting beside my father on the day of the Flower, and I knew you again. I am afraid our country will seem very odd to you. Have you enjoyed your stay?"

"So much. I cannot tell you how much."

"I hope you will remain with us a long time."

"I should like to stop here for ever."

She blushed and smiled with pleasure at these words, then, raising her arms in a noble salute, inclined her head, and entered the cavern.

I returned to the car in a delirium of happiness. I had seen her again, I had actually spoken with her. She knew me! Every detail of her look and accent was indelibly printed on my memory. All next day I wandered about in a kind of transport, feasting on the recollection of what had passed between us, and revolving over my future course of action. In two days the holy time would end, and I should have an opportunity of meeting her at home; but with the chance of seeing her again at the grotto, I could not wait. I was allured towards her by the most delicious fascination. Such a love as mine looked down upon the petty proprieties which keep lovers apart, yet are sometimes so needful in our wicked world. In this noble planet life was free and simple, because it was beautiful and good. I determined to revisit the cove that evening, and if I should see her again, to declare my secret.

Had I counted the cost? With such a passion it is not a question of cost. I was well aware that if she did not reciprocate my affection she would never marry me. Nor did I wish it otherwise. I would not ask her to sacrifice herself for my sake. If, as my heart fondly hoped, she accepted me, I would not allow anything to stand between us for a moment. I would abandon the expedition if necessary, and remain in Venus. If, on the other hand, she refused me as my judgment feared, I would return to the earth as a new man, ennobled by a glorious love, reverencing myself that I was capable of it, cherishing her image in my heart as the ideal of womanhood, and grateful for having seen and known her. Surely a rich reward for all the perils of the journey.

Sunset found me in the cove, not hidden by the leaves as before, but sitting in the boat astrand. She came. To-night her veil was of a golden yellow shading into dark green. A beautiful smile of recognition passed over her face when she saw me, and we greeted one another in the graceful fashion of the country.

I did not speak of the weather or give an excuse for my presence there, as I might have done to a woman of the world. With Alumion I felt that all such artificial forms were idle, and that I could reveal my inmost soul without disguise, in all its naked sincerity.

"I have brought you some flowers," said I, offering her a nosegay which I had picked. "Will you accept them?"

"I thank you," she replied with a beaming smile as she came and took them from my hand. "They are very beautiful, and I shall keep them for your sake."

"For my sake!"

Inspired by love I continued in a voice trembling with emotion,

"Alumion—can you not guess what brings me here?"

A blush rose to her cheek as she bent over the flowers.

"It is because I love you," said I; "because I have loved you ever since I saw you on the day you cut the sacred lily; because I love you—worship you—with all my heart and soul."

She was silent.

"If I am wrong, forgive me," I went on in a pleading tone. "Blame the spell your beauty has cast over me, but do not banish me from your presence, which is life and light to me."

"Wrong!" she murmured, lifting her wondrous eyes to mine. "Can it be wrong to love, or to speak of love? Why should I send you away from me because you love me? Is not love the glory of the heart, as the sun is the glory of the world? Rejoice, then, in your love as I do in mine."

"As you do?"

"Yes, as I do. I should have spoken sooner, but my heart was full of happiness. For I also love you. I have loved you from the beginning."

With a cry of unspeakable joy I sprang from the boat, and would have flung myself at her feet to kiss her hand or the hem of her garment, but she drew back with a look of apprehension.

"Touch me not," she said gravely, "for by the custom of our land I am holy. Until to-morrow at sunset I am consecrated to The Giver."

"Pardon my ignorance," I responded rather crestfallen. "Your will shall be my law. I only wished to manifest my eternal gratitude and devotion to you."

"Kneel not to me," she rejoined, "but rather to The Giver, who has so strangely brought us together. How many ages we might have wandered from world to world without finding each other again!"

"You think we have met before then?" I enquired eagerly, for the same thought had been haunting my own mind. It seemed to me that I had known Alumion always.

"Assuredly," she replied, "for you and I are kindred souls who have been separated in another world, by death or evil; and now that we have met again, let us be faithful and loving to each other."

"Nothing shall separate us any more."

The words had scarcely passed my lips when the same terrible cry which I had heard once before sounded from the interior of the grotto.

Alumion called or rather sang out a response to the cry, which I did not understand, then said to me in her ordinary voice,

"It is Siloo. I must go now and give him food."

I was curious to know who or what was Siloo, but did not dare to ask. She raised her arms gracefully and smiled a sweet farewell.

"Are you going to leave me like that?" said I.

"What would you have?" she answered, turning towards the cave.

"In my country lovers bind themselves by mutual vows."

"What need of vows? Have we not confessed our loves?"

"Will you not tell me when I shall see you again? Will you not say when you will be mine—when you will marry me?"

A blush mounted to her cheek as she answered with a divine glance,

"Meet me at sunset to-morrow, and I will be yours."

As yet I had not mentioned my adventure with Alumion to any of my companions, but that night I said to Gazen, as we smoked our cigars together,

"Wish me joy, old fellow! I am going to be married."

He seemed quite dumbfounded, and I rather think he fancied that I must have come to an understanding with Miss Carmichael.

"Really!" said he with the air of a man plucking up heart after an unexpected blow. "May I ask who is the lady?"

"The Priestess of the Lily."

"The Priestess!" he exclaimed utterly astonished, but at the same time vastly relieved. "The Priestess! Come, now, you are joking."

"Never was more serious in my life."

Then I told him what had happened, how I had met her, and my engagement to marry her.

"If you will take my advice," said he dryly, "you'll do nothing of the kind."

"Why?"

"Have you considered the matter?" he replied significantly.

"Considered the matter! A love like mine does not 'consider the matter' as though it were a problem in Euclid. With such a woman as Alumion a lover does not stop to 'consider the matter,' unless he is a fool."

"A woman—yes; but remember that she is a woman of another planet. She might not make a suitable wife for you."

"I love her. I love her as I can never love a woman of our world. She is a thousand times more beautiful and good than any woman I have ever known. She is an ideal woman—a perfect woman—an angel in human form."

"That may be; but what will her family say?"

"My dear Gazen, don't you know they manage these things better here. Thank goodness, the 'family' does not interfere with love affairs in this happy land! We love each other, we have agreed to be married, and that is quite sufficient. No need to get the 'consent of the parents,' or make a 'settlement,' or give out the banns, or buy a government license as though a wife were contraband goods, or hire a string of four-wheelers, or tip the pew-opener. What has love to do with pew-openers? Why should the finest thing in life become the prey of such vulgar parasites? Why should our heavenliest moments be profaned and spoiled by needless worries—hateful to the name of love? Our wedding will be very simple. We shall not even want you as groomsman or Miss Carmichael as bridesmaid. I daresay we shall get along without cake and speeches, and as for the rice and old boots, upon my word, I don't think we shall miss them."

"And if it is a fair question, when will the—the simple ceremony take place?"

"To-morrow evening."

"To-morrow evening!" exclaimed the professor, taken by surprise. "I thought a priestess could not marry."

"To-morrow at sunset she will be a free woman. Her priesthood will come to an end."

"And—pardon me—but what are you going to do with her when you've got her? Will you bring her home to the car—there is very little room here, as you know. Do you propose to take her to the earth, where I'm afraid she will probably die like a tender plant or a bird of paradise in a cage? Do you think her father would consent to that?"

"We are not going away just yet. There will be time enough to arrange about that."

"Well, we can't stay here much longer. I must get back to my work—and you know we intended to pay a flying visit to Mercury, and if possible to get a closer look at the sun."

"All right. You can go as soon as you like. I shall remain behind. Carmichael will take you to the earth, and then come back here for me."

"You talk as if it were merely a question of a drive."

"I think we have proved that it is not more dangerous to go from one planet to another than it is to get about town."

"If an accident should occur. If Carmichael cannot return—"

"I shall be much happier here than I should be on the earth. Even if I had never met Alumion I think I should come back and stay on Venus."

"It is certainly a better world, as far as we have seen, but remember your own words, 'Man was made for the earth.' Don't you think this eternal summer—these Elysian Fields—would pall upon you in course of time? Constant bliss, like everlasting honey, might cloy your earthly palate, and make you sigh for our poor, old, wicked, miserable world, that in spite of all its faults and crimes, is yet so interesting, so variable, so dramatic—so dear."

"Never. With Alumion even Hades would be an Elysium."

"Think of your friends at home, and what you owe to them; how they will miss you."

"I cannot be of much service to them. They will soon forget me."

"Perhaps you are mistaken there," said Gazen, assuming a more serious air. "In any case I for one shall miss you. In fact, to speak plainly, I shall feel aggrieved—hurt. You and I are old friends, and when you asked me to join you in this expedition I was moved by friendship as well as interest. Certainly, I never dreamed that you would desert the ship. I thought it was understood that we should sink or swim together. If you leave us I shan't answer for the consequences. I appreciate the dilemma in which you are placed, but surely friendship has a prior if a weaker claim than love-passion. Surely you owe some allegiance to Carmichael and myself."

"What would you have me do?"

"Only to carry out the original plan of the voyage. Promise me that you will stick to the ship. Afterwards you can return to Venus and do as you please. Stanley, you know, made his greatest journey into Africa between his engagement and his marriage."

"Very well, I promise."

With an agitated mind I repaired to the tryst next evening and waited for Alumion. How should I break the news to her, and how would she receive it?

The cool airs of the water, and the glorious pageant of the sunset calmed my troubled spirit. All day the serene and beamy azure of the heavens had been plumed with snowy cloudlets of graceful and capricious form, which, as the sun sank to the horizon, were tinged with fleeting glows resembling the iris of a dove's neck, or the hues of a dying dolphin. The great luminary himself was lost in a golden glamour, and a single bright star shone palely through a rosy mist, which covered all the southern sky, like a diamond seen through a bridal veil of gauze.

That lone star was the earth.

Strange to say, I felt a kind of yearning towards it, a yearning as of home-sickness, and it seemed to reproach me for having thought of forsaking it. I wondered what my friends were doing now within that blaze; perhaps they were looking at Venus and speculating on what I was about. How delighted I should be to see them again, and show them my incomparable wife—but could I ever take her there?

Whilst I was musing, the low sweet voice of Alumion thrilled me to the marrow. I turned and saw her. She was dressed to-night in a filmy vesture of opalescent or pearly white, partly diaphanous, and having a deep fringe of gold. There was a pink blush on her cheek and a sparkle of girlish love in her celestial eyes. Never had she seemed more ravishingly beautiful.

"Beauty too rare for use, for earth too dear."

"You were gazing on the star. You did not hear my coming," she said with a little feminine pout.

"I was thinking of you, darling."

She smiled again.

"Is it not a lovely star?" she said. "We call it the star of Love—the star of the Blest."

"It is my home."

"Your home!" she exclaimed with a look of surprise and wonderment.

"You have heard that I come from another world."

"Yes, but I did not know it was a star. And is that beautiful star your home?"

"Yes, beloved; and I am sorry to say I must return there soon again."

"And I will go! You will take me with you to that fair world!"

I thought of all the crime and folly, the deceit, violence, and wretchedness lurking behind that pure and peaceful ray. Alas! how could I tell her the truth and destroy her illusions. She was innocent as a child, and an instinct warned me to keep the knowledge of evil from her, while a contrary spirit urged me to speak.

"You might not find it so fair as it looks from here."

"I am sure it cannot be an evil world since you come from it. To us it is a sacred star."

"If the inhabitants could see it as I do now, perhaps the sight would make them lead better lives—would shame them into being worthier of their dwelling-place."

"Are they not good?" she asked with a look of wonder and sorrowful compassion. "Then how unhappy they must be."

"Some are good and some are bad. Everything is mixed in our world—the strong and the weak—the rich and the poor—the happy and the miserable."

"But do the good not help the bad?"

"Yes, to a certain extent; but life is a struggle there; every man for himself; and the good very often find it hard to secure a little happiness for themselves."

"How can they be happy when they know that others are suffering and in want, that others are bad? I long to go and help them."

"Darling, you are an angel, and I adore you; but, believe me, you alone could do very little. One has already come and taught us how to love and cherish each other, that the strong should help the weak, the rich give to the poor, and the happy comfort the wretched. His followers believe that He came from Heaven, and yet after nineteen hundred years I am afraid that some of them do not fully understand the plain meaning of His words, or else find it convenient to ignore them."

"But many of us will go there. We will bring the sinful and the suffering over here to Womla and make them happy."

"I am touched by your simple faith in us, dearest It does you honour, but I fear it is mistaken. What would you say if the very people you had saved and befriended were to turn round and take your country from you, perhaps even destroy you? Such ingratitude is not unknown in our world."

"If they are so wicked they have the more need of help."

"In any case, darling, I cannot take you with me, for the vessel we came in is too small; but I will come back as soon as possible and stay with you in Womla. How happy we shall be!"

"In Womla—no. We should not be quite at rest."

"Then we shall seek out some desert star where we can live only for each other."

"You do not understand me. Neither in Womla nor in a desert star could we be happy in a selfish love, knowing that others were in pain."

"Better I had not spoken of my world at all."

"No, a thousand times no!" cried Alumion with fervour. "For you have opened up to me a new source of happiness—of blessedness which I have never known before. Only let us go together to your world and minister to the unfortunate."

"Well, darling, we will think of it; but see! the sun has set and you are free again. I came to marry you, but since I must return so soon to my own world, perhaps it would be well to postpone the ceremony until I come back here."

"Why should we do that?"

Evidently she had no idea of the dangers of the journey, or how long it would take.

"If anything should happen to me. If I should die and never return."

"Ah! do not speak of that. The Giver will preserve you."

"But life is uncertain."

"Beloved, I shall never love another but you; therefore, let us unite ourselves, as we are already united in heart and soul, henceforth and forever. Come!"

With these words she turned and glided towards the sacred grotto. I held aside the flowering creeper which hung over the entrance like a curtain, and followed her within. To my great surprise the interior was neither dark nor dusky, but filled with a soft and luscious light from myriads of glow-worms and fire-flies of various colours, which glimmered on the walls like tiny electric lamps, or sparkled in the facets of the gems and spars depending from the roof. Judging by their shape and tint I imagine that some of these incrustations are native crystals of the diamond and ruby, the sapphire, topaz, and emerald. In a deep recess or alcove on one side a spring of clear water gushed from the rock into a natural basin of sinter, enamelled inside and out with the precious opal. Owing perhaps to the minerals through which it had passed the liquid shed a delicious perfume in the air, and made a bath fit for the goddess of beauty.

I had scarcely time to look about me when a strange and wonderful melody of most entrancing sweetness echoed through the cavern.

"Siloo, Siloo!" cried Alumion softly, and the music, which I cannot compare to any earthly strain, ceased in a moment. Presently I was more than startled to see in the gloomier background of the cavern a great white serpent glide like a ghost along the floor and come straight towards us. His milk-white body was speckled all over with jewelled scales, and shone with a pale blue phosphorescence; his eyes blazed in his head like twin carbuncles, and in spite of my instinctive dread of snakes, I could not help admiring his repulsive beauty. Presently he reared his long neck, and faced us with his forked tongue playing out and in. I shrank back, for I thought he was about to spring upon me; but Alumion, laughing gaily at my fears, stepped quickly up to him, and stroked him with her hand. The serpent laid his head caressingly upon her shoulder and emitted a low faint note of pleasure.

Alumion then took a shallow dish or patera, and, filling it from a vase which she carried with her set it upon the floor for the snake to feed.

"You don't seem to be afraid of that gruesome reptile," said I pleasantly.

"Oh, no," she replied smiling. "Siloo knows me very well."

"Tell me, was it he who made the music a little while ago?"

"Yes, and also the noise which alarmed you the first night you wandered here. The music comes from his head, and the noise is from his tail. That is why we call him Siloo."

The word, as nearly as I can translate it, means harmony, order, measure, proportion, in the Womla tongue.

"Does he always live in this cave?"

"Yes, he is a sacred animal with us, and long ago was worshipped and consulted by our forefathers, and those who preceded them in the island."

"Is he very old?"

"None can tell how old. Some say he is immortal. Others think he is only the offspring of the snake worshipped by our forefathers. He is guardian of the sacred fountain whose waters we are about to drink."

When she had spoken, Alumion tripped to the flowing spring, and, taking a cup which was standing on the edge of the basin, filled it from the pellucid stream.

"Give me your hand," she murmured, holding out her own, and lifting her celestial eyes, so full of love and tenderness, to mine. It was a dainty hand, plump, lilywhite, and dimpled, with tapering fingers; and as I felt her warm and silk-soft touch for the first time, my soul melted within me, and my whole being thrilled with delight. Her rosy lips parted with pleasure, and a delicate blush mantled her blooming cheeks and full white throat.

I gazed in rapture on her divine countenance, so like a speaking flower, the image of a beautiful soul on which neither sorrow, care, nor passion had ever left a trace.

She raised the cup, and having sipped of the water, handed it to me in silence. I sought the place where her lips had touched the brim and drank. Now whether it was phantasy or some foreign ingredient I cannot tell, but the water seemed to taste like nectar, and to run through all my veins like wine.

The glamour of the lights and the perfume of the waters wrought upon my senses, and, yielding to the intoxication of my love, I caught Alumion to my arms.

Suddenly the most appalling noise rent the air, and caused me to spring back from my bride in terror. It came from the rattlesnake. His grisly body swayed to and fro, his gaping mouth displayed all its horrid fangs, and his large eyes burned like two red-hot coals.

"Siloo, Siloo!" cried Alumion hastily in a tone of command. "Down, Siloo!"

The serpent at once obeyed her voice and retired again to his dish.

"He thought I was going to harm you," I exclaimed, not without a sense of relief. "Or perhaps he was jealous of me."

"Remember this is holy ground," responded Alumion.

"Forgive me," I said, feeling her reproof. "My love—your beauty—must be my excuse."

"We must part now," she continued, with a blinding glance and a ravishing smile. "I have some last offices to perform here. We shall meet to-morrow at my father's house."

On my way home the blood coursed through my veins like an immortal ichor of the gods, full of sweet and inextinguishable fire. Inebriated with the cup of bliss which I had only tasted, I began to repent me of my promise to leave Womla.

"To-morrow Alumion will be mine," I reflected, "but for how long? A few days at the most. It is too bad!"

An idea struck me.

"Gazen," said I that night as soon as I had a convenient opportunity to speak with him, "I have married Alumion."

"Married her!" he exclaimed, completely taken aback.

"Yes, that is to say, I have gone through the formal ceremony of marriage. I have drunk of the cup."

"But you promised me you would do nothing of the kind."

"I said I would go back to the earth with you, and I will keep my word. But I must say that since I agreed to your wishes in the matter, I think you owe me some concession, and I want you to leave me in Womla while you go on to Mercury, and then come back here to pick me up. That will give me a longer honeymoon."

"Impossible, my dear fellow—quite impossible," replied the professor. "Venus will be too far out of our way home. We have no oxygen to waste, and can't go hunting you in your love affairs all round the solar system."

"Very well, then, I shall stay behind."

"But, my dear fellow—"

"Say no more about it. I have made up my mind."



CHAPTER XI.

THE FLYING APE.

It was broad day when I awoke, and oppressively warm in the little cabin. My first thoughts were of Alumion, the consecration of our loves, and my resolution to abide in Venus. In getting up I felt so light and buoyant that for a moment I fancied I must be giddy, but on reflection I ascribed the sensation to the intoxication of passion, and the exhilarating atmosphere of the planet. I looked out of a window towards the blessed island of my dreams, and to my blank amazement found that it was gone! I could neither see anything of the lake, the square, nor the town, but only a bare and rugged platform of weathered rocks, and the cloudy sky above it.

What was the matter? Had Gazen and Carmichael taken it into their heads to make an excursion, such as we had often planned, in order to observe something more of the country? Yes, that was it, no doubt.

Under the circumstances I was far from pleased with them for having carried me off without asking my leave, knowing as they should have done, that I would be eager to rejoin Alumion; but experience of travel had taught me that a man must not expect to have it all his own way, and should know when to let his companions have theirs, and above all things to keep his temper. I, therefore, decided to take their behaviour in good part, more especially as we could always return to the capital as quickly as we had come from it.

Apparently there was nobody in the car but myself. Wondering, and perhaps a trifle uneasy at the dead stillness, I dressed rapidly and went outside.

The welkin was wholly overcast with dense, murky vapours, which totally hid the sun, and the air was excessively hot, moist, and sultry as before a thunderstorm—an unusual phenomenon in Womla. Black boulders and crags, speckled with lichens, and carpeted with coarse herbage, shut out the prospect on every side but one, where the edge of the platform on which the car was resting ran along the sky. I saw it all now. Gazen and Carmichael had made a journey to the extreme verge of the country; to the very summit of the precipice which surrounded the Crater Land.

Picking my steps over the rough rocks like one who treads on air, I hastened to the brink of the platform. If the car were on the further side of the summit I should be able to see the wide ocean, but if, as I fondly hoped, it were on the hither side, I should enjoy a far-off glimpse of the city and its holy island, which had become a heaven to me. How different was the scene which met my view!

I was looking away over a vast plain towards a distant range of volcanic mountains. A broad river wound through the midst between isolated volcanoes, curling with smoke, and thick forests of a sable hue, or expanded into marshy lakes half lost in brakes of grisly reeds, on the margin of which living monsters were plashing in the mud, or soaring into the air on dusky pinions.

My first shock of surprise passed into a fearful admiration for the savage and gloomy grandeur of the primeval landscape; but as that feeling wore away the old irritation against my fellow-travellers came back. From all I had heard or seen there was no such place as this in Womla, and as it dawned upon me that they had migrated to some other island, or perhaps continent in Venus, I forgot my good resolution, and shouted indignantly,

"Gazen, Gazen! Hallo there! Hallo!"

There was no response, and the dead silence that swallowed up my voice was awful. Had anything happened to my companions, and was I left alone in this appalling solitude? Was I in my right senses, or was I not? I shouted again at the very pitch of my voice, and this time an answering cry came to my relief. On turning in the direction from which it proceeded, I observed Professor Gazen coming slowly towards me, round a mass of turretted rocks.

"What is the meaning of all this?" I demanded petulantly, as he came near, gingerly stepping from stone to stone.

He made no reply, but seemed to be meditating what he would say.

"A nice trick you've played me! Wherever have we got to?"

"Mercury," replied Gazen coolly.

"Mercury!" I exclaimed, fairly astounded. "Impossible!"

"Not at all."

"Oh, come!" said I sarcastically, "that won't do. A joke is a joke; but I'm not in a merry mood this morning."

"So I see. A laugh would do you good."

"Well, where are we?"

"In Mercury."

"What nonsense!" I ejaculated. "Last night I went to bed in Venus, and you want me to believe that I've woke up on Mercury. Tell that to the marines."

"Last night you say; but do you know how long you have slept? And have you forgotten that we are now so near the sun—that the attraction of the sun on the car has assisted the machines to propel us through the intermediate space?"

I had not thought of that.

"Then it is true."

"Of course."

"And why have you come here—what authority—what right—had you to carry me off in this manner without my consent?" I burst out angrily. "You knew I had made up my mind to stay in Venus. I took you into my confidence and told you about my love affair. Why have you betrayed that confidence, and kidnapped me like a slave or a lunatic?"

"Hear me, old friend," said Gazen softly. "We have all noticed a decided change in you of late—ever since the day of the ceremony on the island. You have been like a different person—absent in your mind—incoherent in your speech—abrupt in your manner. You have forsaken your old friends completely, and apparently lost all interest in their doings, all desire for their company. In short, you have behaved like a man beside himself, distraught. We could not make it out, and we had many anxious consultations about the matter. I wondered whether you had had a sunstroke. Carmichael suggested that the stimulating air of Venus had affected your brain. Miss Carmichael alone suspected that you were in love; but I would not believe her. I had been so much in your society without having seen anything to justify her suspicion, and you yourself had never breathed a word to lend it colour. Carmichael and I sought to question you about your health, and the influence of the sun and air upon you, while Miss Carmichael tried to draw you on the subject of the ladies. All in vain. We could not solve the mystery, and as your condition was evidently growing worse and worse, we resolved to leave the planet. Although it was not in the original programme, we had sometimes talked of extending our journey to Mercury, so as to visit all the inferior planets, and give me an opportunity of getting as near the sun as possible for my observations, and this project was made the pretext for hastening our departure.

"We submitted the plan to you, and you know the rest. After you had given us your word of honour that you would break with the lady and return home with us for the sake of your friends, after we had made all our preparations to start, you came back at the eleventh hour, and declared that you had made up your mind to stay behind. If anything had been wanted to prove to us that you were hopelessly infatuated—hypnotised—mad—it would have been that; and as we were morally bound to fetch you back with us, we took the bull by the horns, and carried you off in spite of yourself."

"You had no business to do anything of the kind," I replied hotly. "I am chiefly responsible for this expedition."

"True; but you forget that Carmichael is the nominal leader, by your own agreement, and we are all to some extent under his orders. I, too, was bound in honour to bring you safe home if I could."

"Bound in honour to take care of me! You treat me like a baby."

"People don't come away on such an adventure as ours without a tacit if not a formal understanding to protect each other to the best of their ability, and besides, I had given my word to your friends that I would do my best to help you through. When you come to your senses you will acknowledge that we did right."

Despite my excusable anger and vexation, the calm and friendly explanation of the professor was not without its effect on me. It was true that I had broken my promise to my fellow-travellers; true that Carmichael was commander of the expedition. I was myself at fault. And yet what a disappointment! What would Alumion think of me! After all my vows of eternal fidelity, uttered as they had been in that sacred spot, I had sneaked away like a thief in the night.

"I shall go back to Venus," said I, in a determined manner.

"Tut, tut," said Gazen, with a good-natured smile; "you had better give up that idea. You are clearly the victim of hypnotic influence—of suggestion. By-and-by it will lose its hold on you, and you will regain your freedom of action."

"Never!" I exclaimed, with all the energy of my soul. "My dear Gazen, you are quite mistaken in supposing anything of the kind. I was never saner in my life. Nay, it is only now that I know what it is to be sane; what life was meant to be. Hypnotic suggestion! Pshaw! I know what I am doing as well as you do. I am not a fool. I am only seeking my own happiness—and hers—I tell you that a single moment in her society is worth a whole lifetime on the earth. What do I say? A lifetime? An eternity. Heaven itself were nothing to me without her. I would not take it as a gift. I shall go back. I must go back. I cannot live without her."

"Take time to consider at all events," said Gazen, somewhat impressed by my vehemence. "In the meantime let us join Miss Carmichael. She is beyond the rocks there sketching the valley."

We walked in that direction.

"You may return to the earth," said I; "but on the way you must drop me at Venus."

Gazen had no opportunity of answering, for just at that moment we were startled by a piercing shriek from behind the crags, and rushing, or rather bounding forward, saw a sight that made our very blood run cold.

A flying monster, with enormous bat-like wings and hanging legs, was evidently swooping down on Miss Carmichael, as she stood beside her easel on the brow of the cliff.

"Run for your life!" roared Gazen, dashing towards her with frantic speed.

Alas! she did not hear him, or else she was fascinated by the approaching horror, and rooted to the spot. He was still several hundred yards from her, but owing to the feebleness of gravity on the planet he was so preternaturally light and nimble that he might have covered the distance in a minute or so, had he been more accustomed to control his limbs, and the ground been smoother. As it was he leaped high into the air, and rebounded from the stones like an india-rubber ball, at the risk of spraining his ankles or breaking his neck, while brandishing his arms, and firing his pistol, and hooting with all his force of lung to frighten away the monster.

Too late. The huge leathery wings of the dragon overshadowed the shrinking form of the girl, and the talons of its drooping feet caught in her dress. She made one desperate, but futile effort to free herself from its terrible clutch, and, screaming loudly for help, was borne away over the abyss of the valley as easily as a lamb is carried by an eagle.

"Oh, Heaven!" cried Gazen, stopping with a gesture of despair.

He was deeply moved, and pale as death; but he did not altogether lose his head.

What was to be done?

"The car—the car!" he exclaimed. "We must follow her in the car. Keep your eye on the beast while I go for it."

Carmichael was fast asleep in his cabin, after his long weary vigil during the passage from Venus, but the car was quickly put in motion, and I jumped on board just as it cleared the brink of the precipice.

The dragon, which had the start of us by a mile or more, was apparently steering for the mountains on the other side of the valley. Notwithstanding its enormous bulk, and the dead weight hanging from its claws, it flew with surprising speed, owing to the weakness of gravity and the vast spread of its wings.

I shall never forget that singular chase, which is probably unparalleled in the history of the universe. A prey to anxiety and the most distressing emotions, we did not properly observe the marvellous, the Titanic, I had almost said the diabolical aspect of the country beneath us, and still we could not altogether blind ourselves to it. Colossal jungles, resembling brakes of moss and canes five hundred or a thousand feet in height—creeks as black as porter, gliding under their dank and rotting aisles—mountainous quadrupeds or lizards crashing and tearing through their branches—one of them at least six hundred feet in length, with a ridgy back and long spiky tail, dragging on the ground, a baleful green eye, and a crooked mouth full of horrid fangs, which made it look the very incarnation of cruelty and brute strength—black lakes and grisly reeds as high as bamboo—prodigious black serpents troubling the water, and rearing their long spiry necks above the surface—gigantic alligators and crocodiles resting motionless in the shallows, with their snouts high in the air—hideous toads or such-like forbidding reptiles, many with tusks like the walrus, and some with glorious eyes, crouching on the banks or waddling in the reeds, and so enormous as to give variety to the landscape—volcanic craters, with red-hot lava simmering in their depths, and emitting fumes of sulphur, which might have choked us had we not closed the scuttles—while over all great dragons and other bat-like animals were flitting through the dusky atmosphere like demons in a nightmare.

Little by little we gained upon our quarry, but being afraid to run him too close for fear that he might drop his victim, we kept at a safe distance behind him, yet within rifle range, and near enough to make a prompt attack when he should settle on the ground.

At length we reached the other side of the valley, and found to our intense satisfaction that the monster was making for a rocky ledge on the shoulder of an extinct volcano, where we could see the yawning mouth of what appeared an immense cavern.

"That is probably his den," said Gazen, who was now as collected as I have ever seen him. Nevertheless all his faculties were on the stretch. His keen grey eye was everywhere, and his active mind was calculating every chance. I felt then as I had often felt before that in action as well as in thought the professor was a man of no common mark.

The event showed that his surmise was correct, for soon after he had spoken the dragon uttered a startling cry—a kind of squawk like that of a drake, but much louder, hoarser, shriller—and alighted on the ground.

"There is not a moment to lose," said Gazen. "We must attack him before he enters the cave."

Certainly the darkness inside the cavern would give the beast a great advantage, and although we might succeed in killing him, we could scarcely hope to find Miss Carmichael alive. Was she alive now? I had my doubts, but I kept them to myself. Since she had been carried away she had not given the smallest sign of life, not even when the dragon settled. Perhaps, however, she had merely lost her senses through fright, and was still in a dead faint.

We might have fought the creature from the air, but we had decided to assail him on the solid ground, because we should thus be able to scatter and take him in the flank, if not in the rear.

While Carmichael landed his car the astronomer and I kept a sharp watch on the beast, all ready to fire at the first movement which seemed to threaten the safety of the young girl, who was lying motionless at the bottom of a slope or talus which led up to the mouth of the cavern. Freed from his burden the dragon now stood erect, and a more awful monster it would be difficult to conceive. He must have been at least forty feet in stature, yet he gave us an impression of squat and sturdy strength.

I have called him a dragon, but he was not at all like the dragons of our imagination. With his great bullet head and prick ears, his beetling brows and deep sunken eyes, his ferocious mouth and protruding tusks, his short thick neck and massive shoulders, his large, gawky, and misshapen trunk, coated with dingy brown fur, shading into dirty yellow on the stomach, his stout, bandy legs armed with curving talons, and his huge leathern wings hanging in loose folds about him, he looked more like an imp of Satan than a dragon.

Hitherto he had not appeared to notice his pursuers; but now that he was freer to observe, the grating of the car upon the rocks caught his attention. He turned quickly, and stared at the apparition of the vessel, which must have been a strange object to him; but he did not seem to take alarm. It was the gaze of a jaguar or a tiger who sees something curious in the jungle—vigilant and deadly if you like, but neither scared nor fierce.

We lost no time in sallying forth, all three of us, armed with magazine rifle, cutlass, and revolver. Mr. Carmichael in the middle, I on the lower, and Gazen on the upper side, or that nearest to Miss Carmichael. The rocks around were slippery with ordure, and the sickening stench of rotting skeletons made our very gorge rise. Suddenly a loud squeaking in the direction of the cave arrested us, and before we had recovered from our surprise, nearly a dozen young dragons, each about the size of a man, tumbled hastily down the slope, and rushed upon the lifeless form of Miss Carmichael.

"Great Scott, there's the whole family," muttered Gazen between his teeth, at the same time bringing his rifle to the shoulder, and firing in quick succession.

The foremost of the crew, which had already flung itself upon the prey, was seen to spring head over heels into the air, and fall back dead; another lay writhing in agony upon the ground, and uttering strangely human shrieks; whilst the others, terrified by the noise, turned and fled back helter-skelter to the cave.

The old one, roused to anger by the injury done to his offspring, snarled ferociously at his enemies and, drawing himself to his full height, made a furious dash for Gazen.

Our rifles cracked again and again; the monster started as he felt the shots, and halted, glaring from one to another of us like a man irresolute. Purple streams were gushing from his head and sides; he attempted to fly, and ran towards the brink of the ledge; but ere he could gain sufficient impetus to launch himself into the air, he staggered and fell heavily to the ground, with his broken wings beneath him.

Gazen, quicker than her father, flew towards Miss Carmichael, and bent over her.

"Is she alive?" enquired Carmichael, in breathless and trembling accents.

"Yes, thank God," responded Gazen fervently; as he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

There were tears of joy in his eyes, and I knew then what I had long suspected, that he loved her.

Suddenly a loud croak in the distance caused us to look up, and we beheld another dragon on the wing, coining rapidly towards us from a pass among the mountains. There was not a moment to be lost, and Gazen, taking Miss Carmichael in his arms, we all hurried on board the car, eager to escape from this revolting spot.



CHAPTER XII

SUNWARD HO!

"By the way," said Gazen to me, "I've got a new theory for the rising and sinking of the sun behind the cliffs at Womla—a theory that will simply explode Professor Possil, and shake the Royal Astronomical Society to its foundations."

The astronomer and I were together in the observatory, where he was adjusting his telescope to look at the sun. After our misadventure with the flying ape, we had returned to our former station on the summit of the mountain, to pick up the drawing materials of Miss Carmichael; but as Gazen was anxious to get as near the sun as possible, and being disgusted with the infernal scenery as well as the foetid, malarial atmosphere of Mercury, we left as soon as we had replenished our cistern from the pools in the rock.

"Another theory?" I responded. "Thought you had settled that question."

"Alas, my friend, theories, like political treatises, are made to be broken."

"Well, what do you think of it now?"

"You remember how we came to the conclusion that Schiaparelli was right, and that the planet Venus, by rotating about her own axis in the same time as she takes to revolve around the sun, always keeps the same face turned to the sun, one hemisphere being in perpetual light and summer, whilst the other is in perpetual darkness and winter?"

"Yes."

"You remember, too, how we explained the growing altitude of the sun in the heavens which culminated on the great day of the Festival, by supposing that the axis of the planet swayed to and from the sun so as to tilt each pole towards the sun, and the other from it, alternately, thus producing what by courtesy we may call the seasons in Womla?"

"Yes."

"Well, judging from the observations I have made, we were probably right so far; but if you recollect, I accounted for the mysterious daily rise and set of the sun, if I may use the words, by changes in the density of the atmosphere bending the solar rays, and making the disk appear to rise and sink periodically, though in reality it does nothing of the kind. A similar effect is well-known on the earth. It produces the 'after glow' on the peaks of the Alps when the sun is far below the horizon; it sometimes makes the sun bob up and down again after sunset, and it has been known to make the sun show in the Arctic regions three weeks before the proper time. I had some difficulty in understanding how the effect could take place so regularly."

"I think you ascribed it to the interaction of the solar heat and the evaporation from the surface."

"Quite so. I assumed that when the sun is low the vapours above the edge of the crater and elsewhere cool and condense, thus bending the rays and seeming to lift the sun higher; but after a time the rays heat and rarefy the vapours, thus lowering the sun again. It seemed a plausible hypothesis and satisfied me for a time, but still not altogether, and now I believe I have made a discovery."

"And it is?"

"That Venus is a wobbler."

"A wobbler?"

"That she wobbles—that she doesn't keep steady—swings from side to side. You have seen a top, how stiff and erect it is when it is spinning fast, and how it wobbles when it is spinning slow, just before it falls. Well, I think something of the kind is going on with Venus. The earth may be compared to a top that is whirling fast, and Venus to one that has slowed down. She is less able than the earth to resist the disturbing attraction of the sun on the inequalities of her figure, and therefore she wobbles. In addition to the slow swinging of her axis which produces her 'seasons,' she has a quicker nodding, which gives rise to day and night in some favoured spots like Womla."

"After all," said I, "tis a feminine trait. Souvent femme varie."

"Oh, she is constant to her lord the sun," rejoined Gazen. "She never turns her back upon him, but if I have not discovered a mare's nest, which is very likely, she becks and bows to him a good deal, and thus maintains her 'infinite variety.'"

The cloudy surface of Mercury now lay far beneath us, and the glowing disc of the sun, which appeared four or five times larger than it does on the earth, had taken a bluish tinge—a proof that we had reached a very great altitude.

"What a magnificent 'sun-spot!'" exclaimed the professor in a tone of admiration. "Just take a peep at it."

I placed my eye to the telescope, and saw the glowing surface of the disc resolved into a marvellous web of shining patches on a dimmer background, and in the midst a large blotch which reminded me of a quarry hole as delineated on the plan of a surveyor.

"Have you been able to throw any fresh light on these mysterious 'spots?'" I enquired.

"I am more than ever persuaded they are breaks in the photosphere caused by eruptions of heated matter, chiefly gaseous from the interior—eruptions such as might give rise to craters like that of Womla, or those of the moon, were the sun cooler. No doubt that eminent authority, Professor Sylvanus Pettifer Possil, regards them as aerial hurricanes; but the more I see, the more I am constrained to regard Sylvanus Pettifer Possil as a silly vain asteroid."

While Gazen was yet speaking we both became sensible of an unwonted stillness in the car.

The machinery had ceased to vibrate.

Our feelings at this discovery were akin to those of passengers in an ocean steamer when the screw stops—a welcome relief to the monotony of the voyage, a vague apprehension of danger, and curiosity to learn what had happened.

"Is there anything wrong, Carmichael?" asked Gazen through the speaking tube.

There was no response.

"I say, Carmichael, is anything the matter?" he reiterated in a louder tone.

Still no answer.

We were now thoroughly alarmed, and though it was against the rules, we descended into the machinery room. The cause of Carmichael's silence was only too apparent. We saw him lying on the floor beside his strange machine, with his head leaning against the wall. There was a placid expression on his face, and he appeared to slumber; but we soon found that he was either in a faint or dead. Without loss of time we tried the first simple restoratives at hand, but they proved of no avail.

Gazen went and called Miss Carmichael.

She had been resting in her cabin after her trying experience with the dragon, and although most anxious about her father, and far from well herself, she behaved with calm self-possession.

"I think the heat has overcome him," she said, after a quick examination; and truly the cabin was insufferably hot, thanks to the machinery and the fervid rays of the sun.

We could not open the scuttles and admit fresh air, for there was little or none to admit.

"I shall try oxygen," she said on reflecting a moment.

Accordingly, while Gazen, in obedience to her directions began to work Carmichael's arms up and down, after the method of artificial respiration which had brought me round at the outset of our journey, she and I administered oxygen gas from one of our steel bottles to his lungs by means of a makeshift funnel applied to his mouth. In some fifteen or twenty minutes he began to show signs of returning animation, and soon afterwards, to our great relief, he opened his eyes.

At first he looked about him in a bewildered way, and then he seemed to recollect his whereabouts. After an ineffectual attempt to speak, and move his limbs, he fixed his eyes with a meaning expression on the engines.

We had forgotten their stoppage. Miss Carmichael sprang to investigate the cause.

"They are jammed," she said after a short inspection. "The essential part is jammed with the heat. Whatever is to be done?"

We stared at each other blankly as the terrible import of her words came home to us. Unless we could start the machines again, we must inevitably fall back on Mercury. Perhaps we were falling now!

We endeavoured to think of a ready and practicable means of cooling the engines, but without success. The water and oil on board was lukewarm; none of us knew how to make a freezing mixture even if we had the materials; our stock of liquid air had long been spent.

Miss Carmichael tried to make her father understand the difficulty in hopes that he would suggest a remedy, but all her efforts were in vain. Carmichael lay with his eyes closed in a kind of lethargy or paralysis.

"Perhaps, when we are falling through the planet's atmosphere," said I, "if we open the scuttles and let the cold air blow through the room, it will cool the engines."

"I'm afraid there will not be time," replied Gazen, shaking his head; "we shall fall much faster than we rose. The friction of the air against the car will generate heat. We shall drop down like a meteoric stone and be smashed to atoms."

"We have parachutes," said Miss Carmichael, "do you think we shall be able to save our lives?"

"I doubt it," answered Gazen sadly. "They would be torn and whirled away."

"So far as I can see there is only one hope for us," said I. "If we should happen to fall into a deep sea or lake, the car would rise to the surface again."

"Yes, that is true," responded Gazen; "the car is hollow and light. It would float. The water would also cool the machines and we might escape."

The bare possibility cheered us with a ray of hope.

"If we only had time, my father might recover, and I believe he would save us yet," said Miss Carmichael.

"I wonder how much time we have," muttered Gazen.

"We can't tell," said I. "It depends on the height we had reached and the speed we were going at when the engines stopped. We shall rise like a ball thrown into the air and then fall back to the ground."

"I wonder if we are still rising," ejaculated Gazen. "Let us take a look at the planet."

"Don't be long," pleaded Miss Carmichael, as we turned to go. "Meanwhile, I shall try and bring my father round."

On getting to the observatory, we consulted the atmospheric pressure gauge and found it out of use, a sign that we had attained an altitude beyond the atmosphere of Mercury, and were now in empty space.

We turned to the planet, whose enormous disc, muffled in cloud, was shining lividly in the weird sky. At one part of the limb a range of lofty mountain peaks rose above the clouds and chequered them with shadow.

Fixing our eyes upon this landmark we watched it with bated breath. Was it coming nearer, or was it receding from us? That was the momentous question.

My feelings might be compared to those of a prisoner at the bar watching the face of the juryman who is about to deliver the verdict.

After a time—I know not how long—but it seemed an age—the professor exclaimed,

"I believe we are still rising."

It was my own impression, for the peak I was regarding had grown as I thought smaller, but I did not feel sure, and preferred to trust the more experienced eyes of the astronomer.

"I shall try the telescope," he went on; "we are a long way from the planet."

"How far do you think?"

"Many thousand miles at least."

"So much the better. We shall get more time."

"Humph! prolonging the agony, that's all. I begin to wish it was all over."

Gazen directed his instrument on the planet, and we resumed our observations.

"We are no longer rising," said Gazen after a time. "I suppose we are near the turning-point."

As a prisoner scans the countenance of the judge who is about to pronounce the sentence of life or death, I scanned the cloudy surface underneath us, to see if I could discover any signs of an ocean that would break our fall, but the vapours were too thick and compact.

Every instant I expected to hear the fatal intelligence that our descent had begun.

"Strange!" muttered Gazen by-and-by, as if speaking to himself.

"What is strange?"

"We are neither rising nor falling now. We don't seem to move."

"Impossible!"

"Nevertheless, it's a fact," he exclaimed at the end of some minutes. "The focus of the telescope is constant. We are evidently standing still."

His words sounded like a reprieve to a condemned man on the morning of his execution, and in the revulsion of my feeling I shouted,

"Hurrah!"

"What can it mean?" cried Gazen.

"Simply this," said I joyfully. "We have reached the 'dead-point,' where the attraction of Mercury on the car is balanced by the attraction of the sun. It can't be anything else."

"Wait a minute," said Gazen, making a rapid calculation. "Yes, yes, probably you are right. I did not think we had come so far; but I had forgotten that gravitation on Mercury is only half as strong as it is on the Earth or Venus. Let us go and tell Miss Carmichael."

We hurried downstairs to the engine room and found her kneeling beside her father, who was no better.

She did not seem much enlivened by the good news.

"What will that do for us?" she enquired doubtfully.

"We can remain here as long as we like, suspended between the Sun and Mercury," replied Gazen.

"Is it better to linger and die in a living tomb than be dashed to pieces and have done with it?"

"But we shall gain time for your father to recover."

"I am afraid my father will never recover in this place. The heat is killing him. Unless we can get further away from the sun he will die, I'm sure he will."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Don't distress yourself, dear Miss Carmichael, please don't," said Gazen tenderly. "Now that we have time to think, perhaps we shall hit upon some plan."

An idea flashed into my head.

"Look here," said I to Gazen, "you remember our conversation in your observatory one day on the propelling power of rockets—how a rocket might be used to drive a car through space?"

"Yes; but we have no rockets."

"No, but we have rifles, and rifle bullets fired from the car, though not so powerful, will have a similar effect."

"Well?"

"The car is now at rest in space. A slight impulse will direct it one way or another. Why should we not send it off in such a way that in falling towards Mercury it will not strike the planet, but circle round it; or if it should fall towards the surface, will do so at a great slant, and allow the atmosphere to cool the engines."

"Let me see," said Gazen, drawing a diagram in his note-book, and studying it attentively. "Yes, there is something in that. It's a forlorn hope at best, but perhaps it's our only hope. If we could only get into the shadow of the planet we might be saved."

As delay might prove fatal to Carmichael, and since it was uncertain whether he could right the engines in their present situation, we decided to act on the suggestion without loss of time. Gazen and I calculated the positions of the rifles and the number of shots to be fired in order to give the required impetus to the car. The engine-room, being well provided with scuttles, was chosen as the scene of our operations. A brace of magazine rifles were fixed through two of the scuttles in such a way that the recoil of the shots would urge the car in an oblique direction backwards, so as to clear or almost clear the planet, allowance being made for the forward motion of the latter in its orbit. Needless to say, the barrel of each rifle was packed round so as to keep the air in the car from escaping into space.

At a given signal the rifles were discharged simultaneously by Gazen and myself. There was little noise, but the car trembled with the shock, and the prostrate man opened his eyes.

Had it produced the desired effect? We could not tell without an appeal to the telescope.

"I'll be back in a moment," cried Gazen, springing upstairs to the observatory.

"Do you feel any better, father?" enquired Miss Carmichael, laying her cool hand on the invalid's fevered brow.

He winked, and tried to nod in the affirmative. "Were you asleep, father? Did the shock rouse you?"

He winked again.

"Do you know what we are doing?" Before he could answer the foot of Gazen sounded on the stair. He had left us with an eager, almost a confident eye. He came back looking grave in the extreme.

"We are not falling towards Mercury," he said gloomily. "We are rushing to the sun!"

I cannot depict our emotion at this awful announcement which changed our hopes into despair. Probably it affected each of us in a different manner. I cannot recollect my own feelings well enough to analyse them, and suppose I must have been astounded for a time. A vision of the car, plunging through an atmosphere of flame, into the fiery entrails of the sun, flashed across my excited brain, and then I seemed to lose the power of thought.

"Out of the frying-pan into the fire," said I at last, in frivolous reaction.

"His will be done!" murmured Miss Carmichael, instinctively drawing closer to her father, who seemed to realise our jeopardy.

"We must look the matter in the face," said Gazen, with a sigh.

"What a death!" I exclaimed, "to sit and watch the vast glowing furnace that is to swallow us up come nearer and nearer, second after second, minute after minute, hour after hour."

"The nearer we approach the sun the faster we shall go," said Gazen. "For one thing, we shall be dead long before we reach him. The heat will stifle us. It will be all over in a few hours."

What a death! To see, to feel ourselves roasting as in an oven. It was too horrible.

"Are you certain there is no mistake?" I asked at length.

"Quite," replied Gazen. "Come and see for yourself."

We had all but gained the door when Miss Carmichael followed us.

"Professor," she said, with a tremor in her voice, and a look of supplication in her eyes, "you will come back soon—you will not leave us long."

"No, my darling—I beg your pardon," answered Gazen, obeying the impulse of his heart. "God knows I would give my life to save you if I could."

In another instant he had locked her in his arms.

I left them together, and ascended to the observatory, where Gazen soon afterwards rejoined me.

"I'm the happiest man alive," said he, with a beaming countenance. "Congratulate me. I'm betrothed to Miss Carmichael."

I took his proffered hand, scarcely knowing whether to laugh or cry.

"It seems to me that I have found my life in losing it," he continued with a grim smile. "Saturn! what a courtship is ours—what an engagement—what a bridal bed! But there, old fellow, I'm afraid I'm happier than you—alone in spirit, and separated from her you love. Perhaps I was wrong to carry you away from Venus—it has not turned out well—but I acted for the best. Forgive me!"

I wrung his hand in silence.

"Now let us take a look through the telescope," he went on, wiping his eyes, and adjusting the instrument. "You will see how soon it gets out of focus. We are flying from Mercury, my friend, faster and faster."

It was true.

"But I don't understand how that should be," said I. "The firing ought to have had a contrary effect."

"The rifles are not to blame," answered Gazen. "If we had used them earlier we might have saved ourselves. But all the time that we were discussing ways and means, and making our preparations to shoot, we were gradually drifting towards the sun without knowing it. We overlooked the fact that the orbit of Mercury is very far from circular, and that he is now moving further away from the sun every instant. As a consequence his attractive power over the car is growing weaker every moment. The car had reached the 'dead-point' where the attractive powers of the sun and planet over it just balanced each other; but as that of the planet grew feebler the balance turned, and the car was drawn with ever accelerating velocity towards the sun."

"Like enough."

"I can satisfy you of it by pointing the telescope at a sun-spot," said Gazen, bringing the instrument to bear upon the sun. "You will then see how fast we are running to perdition. I say—what would our friends in London think if they could see us now? Wouldn't old Possil snigger! Well, I shall get the better of him at last. I shall solve the great mystery of the 'sun-spots' and the 'willow leaves.' Only he will never know it. That's a bitter drop in the cup!"

So saying, he applied his eye to the telescope, his ruling passion strong in death. For myself, as often as I had admired the glorious luminary, I could not think of it now without a shudder, and fell a prey to my own melancholy ruminations.

So this was the end! After all our care and forethought, after all our struggles, after all our success, to perish miserably like moths in a candle, to plunge headlong into that immense conflagration as a vessel dives into the ocean, and is never heard of more! Not a vestige of us, not even a charred bone to tell the tale. Alumion—our friends at home—when they admired the sun would they ever fancy that it was our grave—ever dream that our ashes were whirling in its flames. The cry of Othello, in his despair, which I had learned at school, came back to my mind—"Blow me about in winds! Roast me in sulphur! Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!"

Regrets, remorse, and bitter reflections overwhelmed me. Why had we not stayed in Venus? Why had we come to Mercury? Why had we endeavoured to do so much? What folly had drawn me into this mad venture at all? No, I could not say that. I could not call it folly which had brought me to Alumion. I had no regret, but on the contrary an unspeakable joy and gratitude on that score. But why had we attempted to approach so near the sun, daring the heat, which had jammed our engines, and disabled our best intellect; risking the powerful attraction that was hurrying us to our doom?

Suddenly a peculiar thrill shook the car. With a bounding heart I started to my feet and dashed into the engine-room. It was true then. Yes, it was true. The engines were at work, and we were saved!



CHAPTER XIII.

HOME AGAIN.

We owed our salvation to Mr. Carmichael. The firing of our magazine rifles, followed by the news of our perilous situation, had roused him from his lethargy. Although still unable to speak, he had contrived by means of his eyes to make his daughter understand that he wished another dose of oxygen. When she was about to administer it, he called her attention to the fact that in expanding as it issued from the cylinder, the gas became very cold. She caught his meaning instantly, and on applying the gas to the sensitive parts of the machinery had succeeded in cooling and releasing them.

It seems that Carmichael, in order to save time, had been working the engines at an unusually high speed, which, together with the heat of the sun, had caused them to jam. Their enforced rest had of itself allowed them to cool somewhat, and by reducing the speed until we reached a cooler region, they did not stick again.

Carmichael recovered from his illness, and the journey to the earth was accomplished without accident. We landed safely on some undiscovered islands in the Arctic Circle, and after a flying visit to the North Pole in the vicinity, we bore away for England, keeping as high over the sea as possible to escape notice. Going southward we passed through all sorts of weather, thick snow, hurricanes of wind and rain, dry or wet fogs, and so forth; but it made no difference to us. Crossing Spitzbergen, the car was frosted over with ice needles, which, however, were soon thawed by a warmer current of air. Between Iceland and the coast of Norway we glided through a magnificent aurora borealis that covered the whole sky with a luminous curtain, and made us fancy we had floated unawares into the fabulous Niffleheim of the old Scandinavian gods. Near the Faroe Islands we dashed into a violent thunderstorm, and were almost deafened by the terrific explosions, or blinded by the flashes of lightning. Otherwise we could enjoy both of these electrical displays without fear, as the metallic shell of the car was a good protective screen. Certainly our flying machine would be an excellent means of making observations in meteorology, from the sampling of cirrus cloud to the chasing of a tornado.

The first sign of man we saw was a ship rolling in a storm off the Hebrides; but apparently she was not in distress, else we should have gone to her succour. How easy with such a car to rescue lives and property from sinking ships, and even patrol the seas in search of them!

The sun was setting in purple and gold as we approached the English coast, and although at our elevation we were still in sunshine, the twilight had begun to gather over the distant land. The first sound we heard was the moaning of the tide along the shore, and the mournful sighing of the wind among the trees. Hills, fields, and woods lay beneath us like a garden in miniature. The lamps and fires of lonely villages and farmhouses twinkled like glow-worms in the dusk. A railway train, with its white puff of smoke and lighted carriages, seemed to be crawling like a fiery caterpillar along the ground; but in a few moments we had left it far behind. As it grew darker and darker we descended nearer to the surface. A herd of sheep stood huddled on the grass, and stared at us; a flock of geese ran cackling into a farmyard; the watch-dog barked and tugged furiously at his chain; a little boy screamed with fright.

"That sounds homely," said the professor to Miss Carmichael and myself, who were standing with him on the gallery outside the car. "It's the sweetest music I've heard for many a day. Certainly Venus was a charming place, but I for one am jolly glad to get home again."

Yes, I must confess that I too felt a deep and tranquil pleasure in returning to the familiar scenes and the beloved soil of my infancy.

"You don't seem to care much for Venus," said Miss Carmichael to Gazen. "Probably if you had been born there you would have liked it better."

"That may be. If you would like a place, it is well to be born in it."

"Perhaps if you are a good boy you will go to Venus when you die."

"I'm afraid it won't suit my mental constitution. They don't care for science there, and I don't care for anything else. Mars would fit me better, I imagine."

"Venus is my favourite," said Miss Carmichael.

"Well, then, it's good enough for me," responded Gazen.

Their talk set me thinking of Alumion, and my strange fancy that I had known her in another world. Suddenly it occurred to me that in many of her ways and looks she bore a singular resemblance to my first love, who had died in childhood. That was nearly seventeen years ago. Seventeen—it was just the age of Alumion. Could it be possible that she and Alumion were one and the same soul?

"I should like to go back to Venus," said Miss Carmichael. "We can go there now at any time."

"Of course we can," replied Gazen; "and to Mars as well. Your father's invention opens up a bewildering prospect of complications in the universe. So long as each planet was isolated, and left to manage its own affairs, the politics of the solar system were comparatively simple; but what will they be when one globe interferes with another? Think of a German fleet of ether-ships on the prowl for a cosmical empire, bombarding Womla, and turning it into a Prussian fortress, or an emporium for cheap goods."