Rimmed by bare, gaunt mountains, inhospitable and bleak, lay a small lake, set like a turquoise in dull gold. In the midst of this lake was an island, and on this island, even at that height, they could perceive, were buildings rising in terraced formation. At the extreme summit of the island, which rose to a peak, was something that flashed and glowed in the sunlight almost blindingly.
“It’s the golden dome of the lost city!” gasped Nat.
“Say, Nat,” said Joe in rather a shaky voice, laying one hand on Nat’s arm.
“What is it, Joe?” asked Nat, without taking his eyes off the wonderful sight before him.
“Nothing; only—only I feel a bit scared,” was Joe’s quavering confession.
“You may well feel awe-stricken,” said the professor, whose eyes were gleaming, “ours are the first eyes to behold that island since the mysterious catastrophe that wiped out the race that inhabited it, occurred.”
There came a sudden voice at their elbows.
“L-l-l-looks like C-C-C-C-Coney I-I-Island.”
It was the incorrigible Ding-dong, who had taken advantage of the excitement to slip out of his place of involuntary confinement.
But, in the general interest in all that was occurring, no attention was paid to him. In the midst of the eager talk, and still more eager scrutiny of the island, old Matco, who had come out upon the deck and had stood silently gazing at the lost city, uttered a sharp cry.