It was true.

"But I don't understand how that should be," said I. "The firing ought
to have had a contrary effect."

"The rifles are not to blame," answered Gazen. "If we had used them
earlier we might have saved ourselves. But all the time that we were
discussing ways and means, and making our preparations to shoot, we
were gradually drifting towards the sun without knowing it. We
overlooked the fact that the orbit of Mercury is very far from circular,
and that he is now moving further away from the sun every instant. As a
consequence his attractive power over the car is growing weaker every
moment. The car had reached the 'dead-point' where the attractive
powers of the sun and planet over it just balanced each other; but as
that of the planet grew feebler the balance turned, and the car was
drawn with ever accelerating velocity towards the sun."

"Like enough."

"I can satisfy you of it by pointing the telescope at a sun-spot," said
Gazen, bringing the instrument to bear upon the sun. "You will then see
how fast we are running to perdition. I say--what would our friends in
London think if they could see us now? Wouldn't old Possil snigger!
Well, I shall get the better of him at last. I shall solve the great
mystery of the 'sun-spots' and the 'willow leaves.' Only he will never
know it. That's a bitter drop in the cup!"

So saying, he applied his eye to the telescope, his ruling passion
strong in death. For myself, as often as I had admired the glorious
luminary, I could not think of it now without a shudder, and fell a
prey to my own melancholy ruminations.

So this was the end! After all our care and forethought, after all our
struggles, after all our success, to perish miserably like moths in a
candle, to plunge headlong into that immense conflagration as a vessel
dives into the ocean, and is never heard of more! Not a vestige of us,
not even a charred bone to tell the tale. Alumion--our friends at
home--when they admired the sun would they ever fancy that it was our
grave--ever dream that our ashes were whirling in its flames. The cry of
Othello, in his despair, which I had learned at school, came back to my
mind--"Blow me about in winds! Roast me in sulphur! Wash me in
steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!"

Regrets, remorse, and bitter reflections overwhelmed me. Why had we not
stayed in Venus? Why had we come to Mercury? Why had we endeavoured to
do so much? What folly had drawn me into this mad venture at