He had no chance to change his speed.
His straw hat, with its crimson band,—like a frivolous friend too light of heart for sudden tragedy—came tumbling earthward, then floated off to the west in playful, easy spirals. A gay farewell to a lifeless body. For death had been instantaneous.
"—AND GLIDE FOREVER, A HOMELESS VAGRANT THROUGH THE DUSKY VOID"—Page 171
Dr. Alton and Cyrus stood looking upward—at the spot in the heavens where Luther had disappeared from earthly vision. It was hard to believe what their eyes had seen. And when, in silent horror, they looked into each other's faces, both knew that this sudden traveler had started on a darker and a longer voyage than any previous explorer; that he was moving at a speed unknown to other mortals, and that his journey would never end. Both knew that within the hour he would be beyond the orbit of the earth; that the power propelling him felt no exhaustion. Unless colliding with other celestial derelicts, or drawn into the path of some distant planet—Neptune or Uranus—he would push further out into the Infinite. Then, would he join some starry host, off toward the Milky Way, the Southern Cross or Orion's Belt, and glide forever, a homeless vagrant through the dusky void?
His youthful features, untouched by decaying moisture in the icy gloom, might remain, through the countless ages as his friends last saw him, long after his native earth—like its own moon—had become a lifeless ball. Or, beyond the visible stars, far out into bottomless Space,—too far ever to return—is he to wander through the uncharted regions of yet remoter worlds?