A bright trail of light flashed down the heavens to the south-west.
“Look, Lena! look! there is the Attila itself! Now will you believe me?” The deluge of fire had not yet ceased to fall! We stood riveted with horror to the window.
“Do you see the search-light glowing on her bow—the blazing petroleum splashing down from her sides on to the house-tops? Ah! there will be a pretty story to tell of this in the morning.”
Lena could only gasp in answer. The Attila with her one electric eye stood out sharply against the crimson-hued clouds, with trails of fire lengthening out behind her. And as the burning liquid fell, one could see the flames from the gutted houses leap upwards as if to greet it. Whole acres of buildings were ablaze, and one dared not think what that deluge must mean for the desperate mobs below. And no human art could avail here. In this extraordinary vessel the vices and powers of man had been brought to a common focus. The Attila seemed mad with the irresponsibility of strength, and yet to the captain of that fell craft, now suspended in mid-air over the doomed city, I had somehow to transmit the letter of his dead mother. The thought struck us both at once.
“What about that letter?” said Lena, as we watched the destructive gyrations of the aëronef. I took it from her hand reverentially.
“I shall do my best to deliver it. One of the crew” (I remembered Schwartz’ remark) “is likely to descend shortly. Possibly I may meet him. If not, I must wait for my chance. Believe me, Lena, this letter, if I can ever deliver it, will prove the most terrible retribution possible. And now we must be off; your parents are seriously alarmed, and for their sakes you must ride back with me without delay.”
“LOOK, LENA! LOOK!”
It was late in the morning when I snatched a broken rest at the Northertons’. But in seeking my sofa—it was far too terrible a time to think of bed—I had at least the consolation that Lena was restored safe and sound to her father and mother, and last, and perhaps not least, to myself. It seemed, too, that we could detect some lull in the fury of the conflagration, though to what this was due we were unable, of course, to ascertain. Lull, however, or no lull, caution was still indispensable, and old Northerton and the butler, armed to the teeth, kept a dreary vigil till the morning broke in sullenness.