it. Then he went to the engine-room and said abruptly:

"Murgatroyd, I'm afraid it's all up with us. We're falling into the
Sun, and you know what that means. In a few hours the _Astronef_ will be
red-hot. So it's roasting alive--or this. I recommend this."

"And what might that be, my Lord?" said the old engineer, looking at the
bottle which his master held out towards him.

"That's morphine--poison. Fill that up with water, drink it, and in half
an hour you'll be dead without knowing it. Of course, you won't take it
until there's absolutely no hope; but, granted that, you'll find this a
better death than roasting or baking alive." Then his voice changed
suddenly as he went on, "Of course, I need not say now, Murgatroyd, how
deeply I regret now that I asked you to come in the _Astronef_."

"My Lord, my people have served yours for seven hundred years, and,
whether on Earth or among the stars, where you go it is my duty to go
also. But don't ask me to take the poison. It is not for me to say that
a journey like this is tempting Providence, but, by my lights, if I am
to die I shall die the death that Providence in its wisdom sends."

"I daresay you're right in one way, Murgatroyd, but it's no time to
argue about beliefs now. There's the bottle. Do as you think right. And
now, in case the miracle doesn't happen, goodbye."

"Goodbye, my Lord, if it is to be," replied the old Yorkshireman, taking
the hand which Redgrave held out to him. "I'll keep the power on to the
last, I suppose?"

"Yes, you may as well. If it doesn't keep us away from the Sun it won't
be much use to us in two or three hours."

He left the engine-room and went back to the conning-tower. Zaidie was
still on her knees. Beneath and around them the awful gulf of flame was
broadening and deepening. Mercury was rising higher and growing smaller.
He put the bottle down on the table and waited. Then Zaidie looked up.
Her eyes were clear, and her face was perfectly calm. She rose and put
her arm through his, and said:

"Well, is there any hope, dear? There can't be now, can there? Is that
the morphine?"

"Yes," he replied, slipping his arm beneath hers and round her waist.
"I'm afraid there's not much chance now, little woman. We're using up
the last of the power, and you see----"

As he said this he looked at the thermometer. The mercury had risen from
65 degrees Fahrenheit, the normal temperature of the interior of the
_Astronef_, to 93 degrees, an