All was black, all was gone; the earth had returned to its original state; the sea had disappeared entirely; shapeless, dark,—the earth was dead! And in her last convulsive hold on life, she shook the very heavens. The Argenta was whirled round and round in a maelstrom of agony, and then was shot into space.
With a mighty effort Masters released the shutters, and filled the intervening cavity with the ether. It was his last conscious act. On, on went the Argenta, at a terrific speed. The fury of the heavens seemed let loose, and the atom in the firmament was like a wisp of wool in its grasp. Turning, twisting, rolling, the Argenta was borne on the bosom of the whirlwind, and carried with its seven souls of Terra; seven souls that had escaped from, but had witnessed The End Of The World.
BOOK IV
THE PERFECT WORLD
CHAPTER I
IN SPACE
Space—infinite space! On, on, swept the Argenta through the heavens at frightful speed. The engines were useless; the levers refused to work, and the occupants of the airship sat within the shuttered vessel, helpless.
For days they had eaten nothing—they were unable to move; terror had them fast within its grasp.
“Sir John,” said Masters at last, “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Here we are, and here we must remain until our food gives out. Mrs. Desmond,—won’t you come and help me?” Mavis rose from an armchair, and tenderly laid the sleeping babe on the cushions of a settee.
“My baby,” she murmured, “to think I bore you for this.”
“Come, Mrs. Desmond,” and Masters led the way to the tiny kitchen.
All sense of direction had gone, and the occupants of the giant airship, had simply to accept the extraordinary conditions that had been thrust upon them, and remain helpless in the Argenta, carried they knew not whither, adrift in the heavens. They had ceased to reckon time, minutes had no meaning; hours and days passed as one long whole. They were just atoms, existing in space, which is infinite—where time is infinite—where life itself is infinite!