THE eastern mountains were still casting their long shadows over the
lawns and fields, the vineyards and the gardens of Aeria on the morning
of the eleventh of May in the year 2037 of the Christian Era and the
hundred and thirty-third year of the Peace, but the whole population
of the lovely valley were already afoot and abroad, for this was the
most momentous day that had been in the history of the colony since
Richard Arnold had first crossed the Northern Ridge with Natasha beside
him in the conning-tower of the little _Ariel_, in those days the only
air-ship that existed in the world, to lay the foundations of that
throne from which their descendants had ruled the nations of the earth
for a century and a quarter.
To-day the year of probation imposed by the Council upon Alan Arnoldson
and his companion in misfortune, in exile, and in victory, was to
expire, and the long-lost wanderers were to return to their home and
kindred.
Very soon after it became light hundreds of aerial boats and yachts
of every variety of design and ornamentation that the taste and skill
of the most highly-cultivated race of people the world had ever seen
could devise, came floating in towards the vast city of Aeria from the
marble palaces and villas which were scattered throughout the length
and breadth of the central African Paradise.
Along the broad, smooth white roads, too, which led from the southern
portions of the valley, round the lake to the northern shore on which
the city stood, groups of people, with here and there husbands and
wives and pairs of yet unwedded lovers, were gliding in long, swift,
easy curves on noiseless wheel-skates over the polished marble of the
pavements.
Bright with the gayest and yet most perfectly-harmonised colours,
blazing with jewels and precious metals, from their gold or
crystal-winged coronets to the burnished silver framework of their
skates, splendid in stature, and glowing with perfect health--if some
man of the present day could have beheld these dwellers in Aeria on
their way to hold high festival in their capital, he would have thought
that he had strayed into some other and higher sphere, inhabited by
some glorified race of beings who had left the toils and cares and
pollutions of earth far behind them on some lower plane of existence.
Doubtless, indeed, from some such sphere the reincarnated spirits of
those who, a hundred and thirty-three years before, had passed through
the tremendous ordeal of the Terror, and in their hour of well-won
triumph had made such a splendid future possible for their descendants,
looked down with approving eyes, not undarkened by a shade of sorrow
for woes to come, upon this glorious scene of the fruition of the
harvest that they had sown, this realisation of the long-sought ideal
of human brotherhood, where there was no evil because men had learnt at
last that good was better than evil.
Vast as was the stately city, which was at once the capital and the
only town of Aeria, it was soon comfortably filled by the brilliant
throngs of visitors that came pouring into it by road and through
the air. The broad white streets, lined with their double groves of
palms and tree-ferns, soon blazed with colour, and became vocal with
greetings and laughter, and all the houses which lined them were thrown
open to all visitors who chose to come and claim hospitality for the
day of rejoicing.
On the terrace in front of her father’s villa, on the slopes that rose
to the west of the city, Alma stood with Isma watching the brilliant
scene below and around them, and speculating on the coming events
of the day which for them had a supreme interest, such as no other
inhabitant of the valley could feel.
“It will be a right royal home-coming for our two heroes, won’t it,
Alma?” said Isma, slipping her little hand through her friend’s arm;
“almost worthy of the great deeds that they have done to regain what
will be given back to them to-day--and yet, alas! there is to be a spot
on the sun of happiness for all that. Alma, are you still quite sure
that poor Alan will have to come back and not find that which above all
other things he comes to seek?”
A faint flush rose to Alma’s cheeks as she replied, in a low, steady
tone--
“Yes, Isma, alas! as you say, I am still sure of that, supposing always
that he really does come to seek what you mean. I know that no man ever
lived more worthy the love of woman than he is. Yet, God help me, I
cannot give mine.
“I know, too, that he will come back to-day crowned with more honour
than any Aerian, save Alexis, ever won before him since the days of our
ancestors--and yet whenever I permit myself even to dream of him as a
lover, a dark, beautiful, cruel face looks with black, burning eyes
into mine, and two sweet, scornfully-smiling lips say in a whisper that
sounds almost like a serpent’s hiss--‘You may take him now, for I have
done with him. Take him and ask him to tell you how well he and I loved
when my spell was strong upon him and he forgot both you and all his
kindred for sake of me.’
“It is horrible, horrible beyond all thought or speech, but it is so,
Isma, and I, of all the thousands of Aeria who will make merry to-day,
shall be sad at heart and praying for the night to come.”
“I don’t believe it, Alma, however sincerely you may do so--as, of
course, you do,” replied Isma impatiently. “It is not your true and
loving self that is speaking. It is the woman who has been brooding
over a shattered idol that never really was a man of flesh and blood.
“I tell you again--and before that sun has set you will confess in
your own heart that I am right--that you have never known the Alan who
is coming home to-day any more than I have known the Alexis who is
coming home with him. Neither you nor I have ever seen two such men as
they will be--men who have passed through such experiences as no other
Aerians ever had, who have suffered and conquered, dared and done, like
them.
“You must put away those morbid fancies of yours, dearest; they are not
worthy of you any more than Olga Romanoff is worthy to cause you an
hour’s unhappiness. Never mind thinking about Alan as a lover now. I
tell you you have never seen him, therefore it will be time enough for
you to begin to do that when you do see him.
“For my own part, I don’t mind telling you--of course, strictly between
ourselves--that though I can hardly say that I love Alexis as he is
now, since I do not know what he is like, I am quite prepared to fall
in love with him all over again on the slightest provocation. And now,
after that confession, I think we had better close the discussion and
get ready to go over to the city.”
This frank avowal, uttered as it was with a delightful candour quite
irresistible in its charm, brought a smile to Alma’s lips in spite of
her own sombre thoughts. She slipped her arm round Isma’s waist, and
led her towards one of the long windows which opened out on to the
terrace under the pillared portico which ran the whole length of the
front of the villa.
“I quite agree with you,” she said. “If that tell-tale face of yours
is no better masked than it is now, when you meet your Alexis I don’t
think you will have long to wait for the provocation. Ah, well, I
suppose--in fact, I am sure--that you take by far the wiser view, and I
would give anything to be able to look upon Alan as you are ready to do
on Alexis.
“But no, it’s no use; do what I will I cannot think of him apart from
that Syren who has held him in the bondage of her spells all these
years. I know it is unreasonable, and yet he seems, even now that he
has regained his freedom, to belong to her more than he ever did to me.”
“That, my dear Alma,” replied Isma, half seriously and half in jest,
“is as nearly absurd as anything that such a serious and cultivated
person as yourself could say. If I could give you a share of my
more trivial temperament you would just say that you are still so
desperately jealous of Olga Romanoff that you cannot bring yourself to
think of Alan as a possible lover until you feel quite sure that he
hates her as intensely as you do. That may not be a very heroic way of
putting it, but I think we shall find it pretty near the truth before
you have known the new Alan very long.”
Alma laughed more musically than mirthfully at this sally, but made
no reply to it in words. There was, perhaps, more truth in the
half-bantering, half-reproachful words than she would have cared to
admit, even to her best-beloved and most confidential friend, and so
she took a wise refuge in silence, from which Isma, in the gladness of
her own heart, drew her own conclusions.
It might have been that there were depths in Alma’s nature which not
even their life-long friendship and their common sorrow had enabled her
to fathom, but for the present she was quite satisfied that jealousy of
Olga and anger at the advantage which Alma believed her to have taken
of her power were the sole reasons that prevented her from regarding
Alan as she had confessed herself ready and willing to regard Alexis.
When they left the terrace the two girls had breakfast together in
Alma’s own room in a privacy which the other members of the family
tacitly respected, knowing as they did that the events of the day would
bear a totally different significance for them to that which they would
have for all the other inhabitants of the valley.
By the time the sun began to show his disc above the ridges of the
eastern mountains they were on their way to the city with Alma’s mother
and father in one of the aerial boats that were used for transit about
the interior of the valley.
They alighted on the flat roof of the President’s official residence,
a splendid palace of the purest white marble, which stood on the
northern side of the great square, from the centre of which rose the
golden-domed building which served the Aerians as a meeting-place on
all public occasions. It was here that the decrees of the Council were
promulgated, and here, too, on every seventh day were held the simply
impressive religious services prescribed by the Aerian form of worship.
Soon after they had arrived at the President’s house a great
mellow-toned bell sounded the hour of six from the cupola above the
dome, and, as the last stroke died away, a chorus of silvery chimes
rose up from a hundred towers in different parts of the city, and went
floating across the lake and down the valley to the southward, caught
up and echoed as it went by peals from the thousand palaces and villas
scattered about the lower slopes of the mountains.
This was the signal for the commencement of the first ceremony of the
day, and the gaily-dressed, smiling throngs of visitors to the city
began to file in orderly, leisurely fashion into the eight wide-open
doors which led to the interior of the vast temple in the middle of the
central square.
In the midst of the immense open area under the dome was a space about
twenty feet square, enclosed by low railings of massive gold, and in
this stood three tall pillars of marble without a single flaw or vein
to mar their perfect whiteness from base to capital. On each of them
stood an urn of exquisite shape, each carved out of a solid block of
crystal, and each containing a small quantity of ashes.
Each pillar bore an inscription in letters of gold let into the
marble. The centre one was slightly higher than the other two, and its
inscription consisted of the single word
“NATAS.”
The urns on the other two pillars contained a larger quantity of ashes.
On the pillar to the right hand, facing the main entrance to the
temple, were the words--
RICHARD ARNOLD,
First Conqueror of the Air.
NATASHA,
The Angel of the Revolution.
And on that to the left--
ALAN TREMAYNE,
First President of the Anglo-Saxon Federation.
MURIEL TREMAYNE,
His Wife.
The square in which these pillars stood was the most sacred spot on all
the earth in the eyes of the Aerians, sanctified as it was by the ashes
of those who had made possible the Great Deliverance, and brought peace
on earth after countless ages of strife. Every tongue was silent, and
every head was bowed in reverence as those who entered the temple first
caught sight of the pillars and their priceless burdens.
Then the vast and ever-swelling congregation ranged itself in orderly
files, all fronting towards an elevated rostrum which stood at one of
the angles of the great square under the dome, formed by the junction
of the four naves, with their long pillared aisles which ran towards
the four points of the compass.
Suddenly all the carillons that were still ringing out over the city
ceased, and in the midst of the perfect silence the President ascended
the rostrum to address the expectant assembly. Although he spoke but
a little above his ordinary tone, every word could be heard with
perfect distinctness throughout the immense interior of the building,
for a system of electric transmitters, a development of the modern
telephone, carried his voice simultaneously to a hundred parts of the
walls, so that those who were standing farthest from him heard quite as
distinctly as those who were close to the rostrum.
He began by a brief narration of all that had happened to Aeria and the
world since the fatal day on which Olga Romanoff had set foot on the
deck of the _Ithuriel_ to the present moment, and made no attempt to
conceal or to minimise the tremendous and disastrous consequences that
had flowed from that fatal and yet innocent mistake on the part of his
son.
He confessed that the empire of the air, that priceless legacy which
they had received from its first conqueror, had been lost, and that,
not only the outside nations of the earth, but even Aeria itself stood
upon the eve of a conflict in comparison with which even the War of the
Terror itself would prove almost insignificant. All that had been won
then had now to be fought for over again, and fought for with weapons
the destructiveness of which made impossible any estimate of the
carnage and desolation that were about to burst upon the world.
Then he described how Alan and Alexis, acting under the orders of the
Council, had, after vainly trying to arouse the rulers and senates
of Anglo-Saxondom to a sense of their danger and responsibility,
proclaimed martial law throughout the whole area of the Federation,
reasserted the supremacy which the Council had resigned nearly seven
years before, and taken the direct conduct of affairs into their own
hands.
He told how the manhood of Europe, America, Southern Africa, and
Australia had, under the influence of their appeals, roused itself from
the sloth of prosperity and the vain dreams of democracy, and under
their leadership had mustered millions upon millions strong to oppose
those who determined to rivet the chains of despotism once more upon
the limbs of free men.
The energy and devotion of the two men whose exile was to end that
day had accomplished this miracle in less than a twelvemonth. All the
mechanical resources of the Federation had been simultaneously devoted
to the building of an aerial navy, which already numbered nearly a
thousand vessels, and more than a hundred dockyards had achieved
the construction of a navy of over a thousand submarine warships,
while millions of small-arms had been sent out from Aeria, or
manufactured in the arsenals of the Federation for the equipment of the
newly-created armies.
What the issue would be of the mighty struggle which would begin in
six days, no man could tell, but all that could be done to give the
victory to Aeria and the Federation had been done, and the rest lay
in the hands of the God of Battles, who had given their ancestors the
victory in the days of the Terror. The President concluded his address
by saying--
“Those through whom, if not by whom, this calamity has undoubtedly
fallen upon the world, have been recalled to Aeria by the Council,
after nearly seven years of exile, to receive reinstatement in
their long-forfeited rights of citizenship, but even now they will
not reassume those rights unless their welcome home is unanimous.
Therefore, while their ships are still outside our mountains, if any
citizen of Aeria has, even at this eleventh hour, any reason to give
why they should not be permitted to recross the barriers which separate
us from the rest of the world, let him or her come forward now and
state it.”
He ceased, and for a few moments there was perfect silence throughout
the vast congregation. Not a man or woman moved or spoke, and all
eyes were turned on the President, waiting for him to speak again. In
a voice whose now unrestrained emotion contrasted strongly with the
former impassiveness of his tones he said--
“Then their welcome shall be unmarred by any voice of dissent! As the
father of one of the exiles I thank you for endorsing the sanction
which, as President of the Council, I have believed it my duty to give
to the return of my son Alan and his friend and companion, Alexis
Masarov, who fell with him and with him has risen again.”
Hardly had the last word left his lips when salvo after salvo of aerial
artillery roared out from mid-air all round the mountains, and came
echoing down the upper gorges and ravines to tell the people of Aeria
that the fleet which had been sent out to escort the returning exiles
was already in sight.
So spacious were the approaches to the vast building that in less than
ten minutes from the time the President had left the rostrum on hearing
the salutes from the sky not a soul remained within its precincts.
Outside the Council Hall the scene was such as to baffle all attempts
at adequate description. Hundreds of aerial craft, fashioned in every
conceivable variety of design that the educated fancy of their owners
could suggest, soared up from various parts of the city and its
environs, and made towards the Ridge to the north of the valley.
The summit was about four thousand feet above the slope on which the
city stood, and it was quite within the capacity of the pleasure-craft
to scale this height. So their glittering wings beat the cool, fresh
air of the morning with rapid strokes, and the whole flotilla of them
soared upwards until their occupants were able to see over the mighty
rock-wall, and the illimitable landscape beyond opened out before their
expectant gaze.
The President, the Vice-President, and the twelve members of the
Council with their families had embarked on one of the new aerial
battleships, two hundred and fifty of which had been constructed
during the past year. The _Avenger_, as she had been named, in view of
the fact that she was henceforth to be placed under Alan’s immediate
command as flagship of the combined Aerian and Federation fleets, was
the largest aerial cruiser then in existence, and embodied the highest
structural skill to which the engineers of Aeria had attained.
From the stern to the point of her ram she was two hundred and
seventy-five feet in length, with a midships beam of thirty feet. She
was sustained in the air on two pairs of wings, one working under the
other. Of these, the lower and larger pair measured two hundred feet
from point to point and fifty feet in their greatest breadth, while
the upper pair, working nearly flush with the deck, were two-thirds of
their size.
She carried ten guns on each broadside, and two bow and two stern
chasers of a range limited only by the possibility of taking aim at the
object to be destroyed, and her propellers were capable of driving her
through the air at the hitherto unheard-of speed of six hundred miles
an hour.[4]
The _Avenger_, attended by an escort of fifty cruisers of somewhat
smaller dimensions than her own, rapidly out-distanced the flotilla of
pleasure-craft, and passing over the Ridge at a speed of sixty miles an
hour, stopped at an elevation of a thousand feet above it.
From here those on her deck could see the vast oval of the valley
encircled by the sentinel ships which now constantly patrolled the
mountain bulwarks of Aeria, and which were launching hundreds of
time-shells up into the air from their outer broadsides and producing
a continuous roar of explosions which formed such a greeting salute as
had never been heard on earth or in the air before.
Presently an answering roll of thunder was heard far away to the north,
growing every moment louder and louder.
“There they come at last!” cried Isma, who was standing with Alma in
the bow of the _Avenger_, eagerly scanning the northern heavens through
a pair of field-glasses. “I can see the flashes of the shells quite
distinctly.”
As she spoke she handed the glasses to Alma, and noticed, not without a
little smile of satisfaction, that her hands trembled slightly as she
raised them to her eyes.
“Yes, they are coming,” said Alma, in a tone that might have been a
good deal steadier than it was. “I can see the sun shining upon the
hulls of the ships. They are coming up very fast, evidently.”
“Of course they are!” laughed Isma. “After the poor fellows have been
shut out all this time from the delights of Aeria, it is only natural
that they should hasten their home-coming. Look, look! you can see them
without the glasses now. What a swarm of them there seems to be!”
As she spoke an immense fleet, numbering nearly five hundred vessels
spread out in the form of a vast crescent, the arc of which was turned
towards Aeria, swept up out of the blue distance, their polished
hulls glittering in the bright sunlight. In the centre of the arc and
slightly elevated above the rest, shone the blue hull and the white
glistening wings of the _Ithuriel_, and close in her wake followed the
_Isma_.
When the advancing fleet was within five miles of the mountains it
slowed down from four hundred to about fifty miles an hour. At the same
instant the other fleet ran up the Aerian and Federation flags and the
simply eloquent signal, “Welcome Home!” flew from the lofty foremast
of the _Avenger_. It was instantly acknowledged by the _Ithuriel_, and
then on all the five hundred vessels the Aerian and Federation flags
were run to the mastheads and dipped three times in greeting.
Then the two points of the vast crescent that they formed swung slowly
and regularly forward until the arc was inverted and the _Ithuriel_ and
the _Isma_ came along side by side midway between the two horns.
When the two fleets were within half a mile of each other the
_Avenger_, with twenty-five of her consorts on each side, swung round
into line with their prows pointing towards the mountains, and in this
order, at fifty miles an hour and an elevation of a thousand feet above
the Ridge, the combined squadrons swept across the mountain barrier,
and Alan and Alexis, each steering his own vessel in the conning-tower,
saw for the first time, after nearly seven years of exile, the
incomparable beauties of the Aerian landscape opening out before their
eyes.
[Illustration: THE COMBINED SQUADRONS SWEPT ACROSS THE MOUNTAIN
BARRIER. _Page 237._]
Following the movements of the leading squadron, they dipped as soon
as they had passed over the Ridge, and were met on their downward
flight by the hundreds of pleasure-craft which were waiting for them in
mid-air.
Thousands of gaily-coloured handkerchiefs were waved in welcome to
them, and many a greeting in the sign-language passed from the crews
of the warships to the occupants of the pleasure-craft and back again,
for some of the former had been on foreign service for nearly a year,
and there were many pleasant relationships to be renewed which had been
interrupted by the calls of duty.
Far below the home-comers could see the spacious streets of the great
city, brilliant with the gaily attired throngs who had come to welcome
them, and heard the greeting chorus of thousands of bells chiming in
gladsome peals from hundreds of towers and minarets scattered over the
city and its environs.
Signals were now flown from the _Avenger_ directing the whole of
Alan’s fleet, excepting the _Ithuriel_ and the _Isma_, to alight on a
great sloping plain to the northward of the city, where their crews
were to disembark and then proceed to the central hall of the Temple.
Acting on previous orders, the consorts of the _Avenger_ did the same.
The pleasure-craft fluttered downwards on to the housetops, and so
the three battleships were left alone in the air, the _Ithuriel_ now
floating on the right of the _Avenger_ and the _Isma_ on the left.
Amid the welcoming cheers of the throngs which now filled the great
square they sank slowly down, and at length alighted on the roof of the
President’s palace. Then the doors of the deck-chambers opened and a
last and loudest cheer of all rose up as, in full view of the assembled
thousands in the square, the President and Maurice Masarov once more
clasped hands with their long-exiled sons.
Then they descended into the interior of the palace, followed by the
Council and the other guests on board the _Avenger_.
In the President’s room, the same in which he had received Olga
Romanoff’s challenge from the skies, Alan and Alexis were welcomed
home again by those who were nearest and dearest to them. Only their
immediate kindred were present, for, in the nature of the case, the
occasion could have been nothing but a private one. Nor could mere
words of description do justice to the tender pathos of the scene that
was enacted in that inner chamber, for but few words were spoken even
by the actors in it. The emotions of such a moment were too intense and
overpowering for speech, and so heart spoke to heart almost in silence.
Alma, who had, of course, remained outside in the reception-room of the
palace with the Council and her parents, felt even more keenly than she
had expected the truth of the prophecy that she had uttered to Isma an
hour or so before. Amidst all the thousands of Aeria she was the only
one whose heart was heavy on that day of universal rejoicing.
Once, and once only, her eyes had met Alan’s, but the single swift
glance had been more than enough to tell her how far they now stood
apart. She had seen the light of pleasure and triumph suddenly die out
of his eyes and the bright flush on his cheek pale as he looked at her.
There had not even been a greeting smile on his lips as he bowed his
cold, grave salutation to her and then turned away to look down upon
the city and the splendid prospect of the valley that was opening
before him. This had happened up in mid-air, just as the ships had
crossed the Ridge in close order, and she had not been able to trust
herself to look at him again even when they had disembarked on the roof
of the palace.
The swift telegraphy of that one glance had been enough to tell her
that it was not the fond, light-hearted lover of her girlhood that had
come back, but a strong, stern, and prematurely grave man, who knew all
and more than she knew of the new relation between them, and who knew
also that they could not meet as they had parted, and so accepted the
changed conditions with a proud reserve that drew a sharp dividing line
between them which, for all she knew, might never be crossed.
Though outwardly she was calm and perfectly self-possessed, she waited
in a suspense that almost amounted to mental agony for the moment when
the greetings in the President’s room would be over and Alan and Alexis
would be brought out to be formally presented to the Council. Then
their hands would have to meet and words would have to pass between
them.
Meet as strangers they could not, for everyone knew--even he knew--why
she had refused all these years to wed with any other man, nor yet
could they meet as lovers, as Isma and Alexis had perhaps done by this
time, for between them the shadow had fallen, and even if there was
love in their hearts there could be none upon their lips.
If Olga Romanoff could have looked into Alma’s soul at that moment, she
would have seen something very like a fulfilment of a prophecy she had
made on board the old _Ithuriel_ six years and a half before to Alan,
when she first heard of her rival--“By your hand I will wring her heart
dry, and cast it aside to wither like an apple shaken from the tree!”
In those moments of suspense it seemed to Alma that even now her heart
was withering under the blight of this great sorrow that had fallen
upon her life after all her years of loving and patient waiting.
At last she heard footsteps and voices in the corridor that led from
the private apartments of the palace. They were coming, and almost
mechanically she turned her eyes towards the curtains which screened
the doorway through which they would enter. They parted, and Alan came
in walking by his father’s side and with Isma hanging laughing on his
arm.
She shrank back a little as she saw Isma look at her for a moment and
then say something to Alan. But he appeared to take no notice, and
walked forward with his father to where the members of the Council were
waiting to receive him. She heard the President say the formal words of
presentation, and saw the rulers of Aeria one after another grasp his
hands, and then those of Alexis, greeting them heartily as they did so.
Then the little group opened, and she saw, as in a waking dream, Alan’s
tall form striding towards her with both hands outstretched, and heard
a voice that was his, and yet not his, so deep a ring of unwonted
gravity was there in it, say--
“Are you going to be the only one who has no greeting for the prodigal,
Alma? Have you forgotten that we were sweethearts once, and therefore
surely may be friends now?”
There was an emphasis on the word “friends” that was perhaps
imperceptible to all ears but hers, but she caught it, and took her cue
from it instantly. With admirable tact he had, in that one word, shown
her the only basis on which it would be possible for them to take part
together in the society of the valley.
As man and woman they must be to one another as friends whose
friendship was sweetened by the recollection that long ago, as boy and
girl, they had been lovers. She accepted the situation with a sense of
thankfulness and infinite relief, and, frankly placing her hands in his
and summoning all her self-command to her aid, she looked steadily up
into his bronzed, bearded face, and said gravely and sweetly--
“You know that that is not so, Alan, and if my welcome is a little
tardy it is none the less sincere for that reason. There were others
who had a prior claim, and so I waited, for it is only right that
friends should come after kindred. Welcome home! I suppose we are going
to the Council Hall now, to see what we are all longing so much to
see--the Golden Wings once more upon your brows.”
“Yes,” replied Alan colouring slightly, as he noticed her upward glance
at his sable head-gear, “we are going there immediately, I believe,
but,” he continued in a lower tone and still holding her hand in his,
“long and anxiously as I have looked forward to to-day and its promise,
half of that promise will be betrayed unless you tell me first that you
believe I have fairly won the right to wear the Golden Wings again.
Tell me, now, do you in your heart think so?”
“If you have not done so,” she replied, only keeping her voice steady
by a supreme effort, “then it would be hopeless for any man to look for
forgiveness on earth. You have fallen and you have risen again, and
to-day there are no two men in Aeria more worthy of honour than you and
Alexis are.”
He looked down into the clear depths of her soft grey eyes as she
spoke, and in another instant he might have forgotten that which sealed
his lips to all words of love, and all the reserve to which he had been
schooling himself for so long, but at that moment Alma’s mother came
towards them saying that the President was ready to take Alan to the
Council Hall, and--this with a smile--that thousands should not be kept
waiting for the sake of one. Her words recalled him to himself, and,
with an inclination of his black-plumed head, he said--
“That is enough, for now I know that I have heard the truth from the
lips of my severest judge, and I am well content with it. I have not
lost everything if you believe that I have regained my honour.”
“We all believe that, Alan,” said Alma’s mother before her daughter
could reply; “and, more than that, I know of no one in Aeria who thinks
that you ever really lost it. Now go to your father. He is thinking of
the thousands who are waiting anxiously for you in the Council Hall.
You can finish this conversation later on.”
He accepted the dismissal with a smile, and as he went back he saw Isma
slip away from Alexis’ side with a tell-tale blush on her lovely face,
and, giving him a saucy, laughing glance as she passed him, run lightly
across the room to Alma’s side.
“Well,” she said, reading too swiftly and not very correctly the
altered expression of her friend’s face, “have you made friends, then,
after all? I thought you would, and--oh, Alma, I _am_ so happy!”
“Yes,” replied Alma gravely, though she could not repress a smile at
the radiant face that looked up at hers, “we have made friends. But you
seem to have done something more than that. Your explanations”--
“There were no explanations at all,” interrupted Isma, rosy red from
neck to brow. “When we met in the room he picked me up in his arms
before everybody and kissed me--and after that of course there was
nothing to be said.”
FOOTNOTE:
[4] Those readers who may be inclined to think this speed extravagant
or impossible are requested to remember that the most recent
experiments in aerodynamics have proved that the higher the speed of
an aerial machine the less is the power required to support and propel
it, or, to quote the words of Professor Langley, of the Smithsonian
Institute, “One horse-power will transport a larger weight at twenty
miles an hour than at ten, a still larger at forty miles an hour than
at twenty, and so on with increasing economy of power with each higher
speed up to some remote limit not yet attained in experiment.” Granted
therefore the practically illimitable energy of the motive power
supposed to be at the command of the Aerians, there is no reason why a
ship of the dimensions of the _Avenger_ should not be propelled at the
enormous speed mentioned in the text.