Shortly the vines and flowers veiled our walls and hid us in temples of green, crimson and white-hued blossoms. A paradise was about us.
We turned water from the mountain springs and made silvery lakes and rippling streams through the shaded fragrance. We almost forgot that Gregg Dempster had predicted a twenty years winter!
There were trees with silver fringes, others with crimson leaves, and masses of shrubs whose leaves were the purple velvet of the pansy. The landscape became like a beautiful dream; its coloring was of a kind which paled the hues of Earth to insipidity.
Nature seemed to move by contraries; everything was a bewilderment. We were afraid the very trees would encroach upon us and wind us in their ever-extending arms.
The waters of the heavy, frothy sea scintillated with the brilliant hues of the rainbow, but not a leaf or a twig would float upon them; everything sank, even the feathers with which we experimented.
The low-hanging clouds had fantastic shapes and were constantly casting wonderful prismatic effects upon sea and rock. The shafts of light which broke through them made the star kaleidoscopic; but during storms we seemed to be in the volume of the bursting thunder-clouds.
Verdure began to bloom on those distant isles out at sea. I had given up hope of reaching them, but Regan ever looked restlessly away at those singular islands, those lonely peaks and mounds in that steaming, unbounded water. Through noon’s heat, through starlit nights, he watched and considered how to reach them.
“To be king of the isles and unable to get to the isles!” he explained to Isabella.
“Try a balloon!” suggested Father Renaudin.
“I have thought of that,” said Regan. “We have no cloth, or the possibility of manufacturing any. Then the laws of atmospheric pressure, the lack of gravitation, the too hot air above volcanoes, or some other reason on this little ball, may cause the work of months to be a failure. I cannot afford to fail!”