so much to get into the machine," said the
arch-hypocrite, demurely.

"Are you engaged to marry young Raby," said Little, bluntly.

"As you please," she said with a courtesy; "do I take this as a
refusal?"

Little was a gentleman. He lifted her and her lapdog into the car.

"How nice! it won't go off?"

"No, the rope is strong, and the ballast is not yet in."

A report like a pistol, a cry from the spectators, a thousand hands
stretched to grasp the parted rope, and the balloon darted upward.

Only one hand of that thousand caught the rope,--Little's! But in the
same instant the horror-stricken spectators saw him whirled from his
feet and borne upward, still clinging to the rope, into space.

CHAPTER VII.*

* The right of dramatization of this and succeeding chapters is
reserved by the writer.

Lady Caroline fainted. The cold watery nose of her dog on her cheek
brought her to herself. She dared not look over the edge of the car;
she dared not look up to the bellying monster above her, bearing her to
death. She threw herself on the bottom of the car, and embraced the
only living thing spared her,--the poodle. Then she cried. Then a
clear voice came apparently out of the circumambient air:--

"May I trouble you to look at the barometer?"

She put her head over the car. Little was hanging at the end of a long
rope. She put her head back again.

In another moment he saw her perplexed, blushing face over the
edge,--blissful sight.

"O, please don't think of coming up! Stay there, do!"

Little stayed. Of course she could make nothing out of the barometer,
and said so. Little smiled.

"Will you kindly send it down to me?"

But she had no string or cord. Finally she said, "Wait a moment."

Little waited. This time her face did not appear. The barometer came
slowly down at the end of--a stay-lace.

The barometer showed a frightful elevation. Little looked up at the
valve and said nothing. Presently he heard a sigh. Then a sob. Then,
rather sharply,--

"Why don't you do something?"

CHAPTER VIII.

Little came up the rope hand over hand. Lady Caroline crouched in the
farther side of the car. Fido, the poodle, whined. "Poor thing," said
Lady Caroline, "it's hungry."

"Do you wish to save the dog?" said Little.

"Yes."

"Give me your parasol."

She handed Little a good-sized affair of lace and silk and whalebone.
(None of your "sunshades.") Little examined its ribs