“Such optimistic wise-acres are wrong,” he answered,—“The world is a veritable husk of a planet; humanity has nearly completed all its allotted phases, and the end is near.”
“The end?” echoed Lady Sibyl,—“Do you believe the world will ever come to an end?”
[p 151]
“I do, most certainly. Or, to be more correct, it will not actually perish, but will simply change. And the change will not agree with the constitution of its present inhabitants. They will call the transformation the Day of Judgment. I should imagine it would be a fine sight.”
The Countess gazed at him wonderingly,—Lady Sibyl seemed amused.
“I would rather not witness it,”—said Lord Elton gruffly.
“Oh, why?” and Rimânez looked about with quite a cheerful air—“A final glimpse of the planet ere we ascend or descend to our future homes elsewhere, would be something to remember! Madame”—here he addressed Lady Elton; “are you fond of music?”
The invalid smiled gratefully, and bent her head in acquiescence. Miss Chesney had just entered the room and heard the question.
“Do you play?” she exclaimed vivaciously, touching him on the arm with her fan.
He bowed. “I do. In an erratic sort of fashion. I also sing. Music has always been one of my passions. When I was very young,—ages ago,—I used to imagine I could hear the angel Israfel chanting his strophes amid the golden glow of heavenly glory,—himself white-winged and wonderful, with a voice out-ringing beyond the verge of paradise!”
As he spoke, a sudden silence fell upon us all. Something in his accent touched my heart to a strange sense of sorrow and yearning, and the Countess of Elton’s dark eyes, languid with long suffering, grew soft as though with repressed tears.