“Then I determined upon another course. I worked and slaved until I could procure another balloon, as nearly like the one I lost as might be constructed. Then I watched and waited for just such another storm as the one upon whose wings my darlings were borne away, meaning to take the same course, and so find—”
“Why, man, dear, you must have been insane!” impulsively cried the professor, unable longer to control his tongue.
“Perhaps I was; little wonder if so,” admitted Edgecombe, turning that way, with a wan smile lighting up his visage. “I could no longer reason. I could only act. I had but that one grim hope, to eventually discover what time and exposure to the weather might have left of my lost loves.
“Then, after so long waiting, the storm came, blowing in the same direction as that other. I cut my balloon loose, and let it drift. I looked and waited, hoping, longing, yet—failing! I was wrecked, here in this wilderness. My balloon was carried away. I failed to find—aught!”
Cooper Edgecombe turned towards the air-ship, with a sigh of regret.
“If one had something like this then, I might have found them,—even alive! But now—too late—eternally too late!”
CHAPTER XIII. THE LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS.
Uncle Phaeton was more than willing to do the honours of his pet invention, and this afforded a most happy diversion, although the deepening twilight hindered any very extensive examination.
Cooper Edgecombe showed himself in a vastly different light while thus engaged, his shrewd questions, his apt comments, quite effectually removing the far from agreeable doubts born of his earlier words and demeanour.