For several days the subject of the great perforation made by the
automatic shell was not mentioned between Margaret and Roland. This
troubled her a great deal, for she thoroughly understood her lover's
mind, and she knew that he had something important to say to her, but
was waiting until he had fully elaborated his intended statement. She
said nothing about it, because it was impossible for her to do so. It
made her feel sick even to think of it, and yet she was thinking of it
all the time.
At last he came to her one morning, his face pale and serious. She
knew the moment her eyes fell upon him that he had come to tell her
something, and what it was he had to tell.
“Margaret,” said he, beginning to speak as soon as he had seated
himself, “I have made up my mind about that shaft. It would be
absolutely wicked if I were not to go down to the bottom and see what
is there. I have discovered something--something wonderful--and I do not
know what it is. I can form no ideas about it, there is nothing on which
I can base any theory. I have done my best to solve this problem without
going down, but my telescope reveals nothing, my camera shows me nothing
at all.”
She sat perfectly quiet, pallid and listening.
“I have thought over this thing by day and by night,” he continued, “but
the conclusion forces itself upon me, steadily and irresistibly, that
it is my duty to descend that shaft. I have carefully considered
everything, positively everything, connected with the safety of such
a descent. The air in the cavity where my shell now rests is perfectly
good; I have tested it. The temperature is simply warm, and there is no
danger of quicksands or anything of that sort, for my shell still rests
as immovable as when I first saw it below the bottom of the shaft.
“As to the distance I should have to descend, when you come to consider
it, it is nothing. What is fourteen miles in a tunnel through a
mountain? Some of those on the Great Straightcut Pacific Railroad are
forty miles in length, and trains run backward and forward every day
without any one considering the danger; and yet there is really more
danger from one of those tunnels caving in than in my perpendicular
shaft, where caving in is almost impossible.
“As to the danger which attends so great a descent, I have thoroughly
provided against that. In fact, I do not see, if I carry out my plans,
how there could be any danger, more than constantly surrounds us, no
matter what we are doing. In the first place, we should not think of
that great depth. If a man fell down any one of the deep shafts in our
silver mines, he would be as thoroughly deprived of life as if he should
fall down my shaft. But to fall down mine--and I want you to consider
this, Margaret, and thoroughly understand it--would be almost
impossible. I have planned out all the machinery and appliances which
would be necessary, and I want to describe them to you, and then, I am
sure, you will see for yourself that the element of danger is more fully
eliminated than if I should row you on the lake in a little boat.”
She sat quiet, still pale, still listening, her eyes fixed upon him.
“I have devised a car,” he said, “in which I can sit comfortably and
smoke my cigar while I make the descent. This, at the easy and steady
rate at which my engines would move, would occupy less than three hours.
I could go a good deal faster if I wanted to, but this would be fast
enough. Think of that--fourteen miles in three hours! It would be
considered very slow and easy travelling on the surface of the earth.
This car would be suspended by a double chain of the very best toughened
steel, which would be strong enough to hold ten cars the weight of mine.
The windlass would be moved by an electric engine of sufficient power
to do twenty times the work I should require of it, but in order to make
everything what might be called super-safe, there would be attached to
the car another double chain, similar to the first, and this would be
wound upon another windlass and worked by another engine, as powerful as
the first one. Thus, even if one of these double chains should break--an
accident almost impossible--or if anything should happen to one of these
engines, there would be another engine more than sufficient for the
work. The top of this car would be conical, ending in a sharp point, and
made of steel, so that if any fragment in the wall of the tunnel should
become dislodged and fall, it would glance from this roof and fall
between the side of the car and the inner surface of the shaft; for the
car is to be only twenty-six inches in diameter-quite wide enough for
my purpose--and this would leave at least ten inches of space all around
the car. But, as I have said before, the sides of this tunnel are hard
and smooth. The substances of which they are composed have been pressed
together by a tremendous force. It is as unlikely that anything should
fall from them as that particles should drop from the inside of a
rifle-barrel.
“I admit, Margaret, that this proposed journey into the depths of the
earth is a very peculiar one, but, after all, it is comparatively an
easy and safe performance when compared to other things that men have
done. The mountain-climbers of our fathers' time, who used to ascend the
highest peaks with nothing but spiked shoes and sharpened poles, ran far
more danger than would be met by one who would descend such a shaft as
mine.
“And then, Margaret, think of what our friends on board the Dipsey have
been and are doing! Think of the hundreds of miles they have travelled
through the unknown depths of the sea! Their expedition was fifty times
as hazardous as the trip of a few hours which I propose.”
Now Margaret spoke.
“But I am not engaged to be married to Samuel Block, or to Mr. Gibbs, or
to any of the rest of them.”
He drew his chair closer to her, and he took both of her hands in his
own. He held them as if they had been two lifeless things.
“Margaret,” he said, “you know I love you, and--”
“Yes,” she interrupted, “but I know that you love science more.”
“Not at all,” said he, “and I am going to show you how greatly mistaken
you are. Tell me not to go down that shaft, tell me to live on without
ever knowing what it is I have discovered, tell me to explode bombs in
that great hole until I have blocked it up, and I will obey you. That is
how I love you, Margaret.”
She gazed into his eyes, and her hands, from merely lifeless things,
became infused with a gentle warmth; they moved as if they might return
the clasp in which they were held. But she did not speak, she simply
looked at him, and he patiently waited. Suddenly she rose to her feet,
withdrawing her hands from his hold as if he had hurt her.
“Roland,” she exclaimed, “you think you know all that is in my heart,
but you do not. You know it is filled with dread, with horror, with a
sickening fear, but it holds more than that. It holds a love for you
which is stronger than any fear or horror or dread. Roland, you must go
down that shaft, you must know the great discovery you have made--even
if you should never be able to come back to earth again, you must die
knowing what it is. That is how I love you!”
Roland quickly made a step forward, but she moved back as if she were
about to seat herself again, but suddenly her knees bent beneath her,
and, before he could touch her, she had fallen over on her side and lay
senseless on the floor.