“It is five minutes past ten o’clock,” I said.
“Goodness me!” said the friar; “how I shall have to hurry. I should
have left at seven o’clock, as I am due at Mars not later than
midnight, or I forfeit my liberty for one generation; and thirty years
without a fly to some planet or other is no joke. Ta, ta!”
And as I looked at my jolly friend he scared me by suddenly becoming
perfectly incandescent; he glowed for an instant like a furnace at
white heat, then with a whizz and a flash he was gone so quickly that
the eye could only follow him for a trice, and then he disappeared
into space; at least his bodily form disappeared by apparently
transforming itself into a star, which grew smaller and less brilliant,
till it was entirely lost amid the myriads of others which studded the
sky.
I smelt for brimstone, but there was not even a sign of it that I could
detect.
I felt dizzy, and stiff, and stupid, but gathering my umbrella, books,
and flask together (the latter quite empty, by the by, possibly upset),
I made for Minehead, but found it a long and difficult walk. Sitting so
long in one position had cramped and affected my legs to such a degree,
that it was with much meandering and uncertainty that I reached my
apartments near the little pier.
My wife, good soul, was waiting up for me, and as I entered she pointed
to the clock, which was then striking twelve.
Thinking of Friar Bacon, I exclaimed half aloud--“I wonder if he
reached home in time? What a flight, thirty-five million miles in less
than three hours!”
At this my wife shook her head, and remarked that bed was the best
place for me; and as she kindly assisted me to undress, I did not
contradict her.
When I awoke next morning I felt in a very unsettled state of mind, and
collecting my wandered senses, I endeavoured to account to my wife for
my absence of the previous day, by telling her of my adventure with the
monk in Horner Woods. She was moved when I told her that the paper in
my waistcoat pocket would _prove_ what I asserted to be true.
“Kindly feel in the right-hand pocket of my waistcoat, get out the
paper, and read for yourself,” I remarked quietly but triumphantly.
She felt as directed.
Nothing was there save a large hole!
I had lost the paper; and with it my character for veracity and the
knowledge of “How to Live for Ever” into the bargain.