Chapter VIII.
As Thorndyke watched the flying machine that was bearing his friend away a genuine feeling of pity went over him. Poor Johnston! He had been haunted all day with the belief that he was to meet with some misfortune from which Thorndyke was to be spared, and Thorndyke had ridiculed his fears. When the air-ship had become a mere speck in the sky, the Englishman turned back into the palace and strolled about in the vast crowd.
A handsome young man in uniform approached and touched his hat:
“Are you the comrade of the fellow they are just sending away?” he asked.
“Yes. Where are they taking him?”
“To the 'Barrens,' of course; where do you suppose they would take such a man? He couldn't pass his examination. You are not a great physical success yourself, but they say you pleased the king with your tongue.”
“To the Barrens,” repeated Thorndyke, too much concerned over the fate of his comrade to notice the speaker's tone of contempt; “what are they, where are they?”
The Alphian officer changed countenance, as he looked him over with widening eyes.
“Your accent is strange; are you from the other world?”
“I suppose so,—this is a new one to me at any rate.”