“Does the sun stop before entering the tunnel?”
“I do not know,” replied Branasko; “perhaps somebody will be there to see what is wrong with the light. We must have our wits about us when we land.”
Johnston was looking over the edge of the platform. “If the king's display is taking place down there I can see no sign of it.”
“How stupid of us!” ejaculated Branasko. “Of course, clouds sufficiently dense to hide the sun from Alpha would also prevent us from seeing the display below. I ought to——”
He was interrupted by a grand outburst of harmony. The whole earth seemed to vibrate with sublime melody. “Our blunder has not been discovered yet,” finished Branasko, after a pause, “else the fete down below would have been over. I am cold; shall we go inside?”
Johnston's answer was taken out of his mouth by a loud rattling beneath the floor, near the wheel he had just turned; the sun shook spasmodically for an instant, and its entire surface was faintly illuminated, but the light failed signally.
“It must have been an extra current of electricity sent to relight the lamps,” remarked Johnston; and, as he concluded, the sun trembled again, and another flash and failure occurred. “Look,” cried the American, “the clouds are thinning; see the lights below! They have discovered the accident!”
They both leaned over the railing and looked below. As far as the eye could reach, within the arc of their vision, they could see fitful lights flashing up, here and there, and going out again. And then they heard faint sounds of crashing masonry and the condensed roar of human voices, which seemed to come from above rather than from below. The Alphian turned. “I cannot stand the cold,” he said.
Johnston followed him. The rapid motion of the swinging sphere made him dizzy, and he caught Branasko's arm to keep from falling.
“How can we tell when we go over the wall?” he asked anxiously.