gara by this time."

"My father must have lost hope, or he would not have stopped the sun,"
sighed the princess, and she cast a sad glance towards the west. The
rolling clouds had become more dense, and the rumbling and booming in
the distance was growing more frequent. A thin gray cloud passed before
the sun, and a dim shadow fell over the city.

"That is a natural cloud," said Thorndyke; "it comes from the steam that
rises from the pit."

"It is exactly like our rain clouds," returned the princess; "but
it comes from the steam, as you say. But let us go into the Electric
Auditorium and hear the news. As soon as anything is done we will
hear of it there." The others had no time to question her, for she was
hastening into the corridor outside. She piloted them down a flight of
stairs into a large circular room beneath the surface of the ground. It
was filled with seats like a modern theatre, and in the place where
the stage would have been, stood a mighty mirror over an hundred feet
square. She led them to a private box in front of the mirror. The room
was filled from the first row of chairs to the rear with a silent,
anxious crowd. In the massive frame of the mirror were numerous
bell-shaped trumpets like those on the ordinary phonograph, though much
larger.

"Watch the mirror," whispered Bernardino as she sat down.

And at that instant the surface of the great glass began to glow like
the sky at dawn, and all the lights in the room went out. Then from the
trumpets in the frame came the loud ringing of musical bells.

"They are ready," whispered Bernardino; "now watch and listen."

The pink light on the mirror faded, and a life-like reflection
appeared--the reflection of a young man standing on a rock in bold
relief against a dark background of rugged, slabbering cliffs and the
forbidding mouths of caves.

"Waldmeer!" ejaculated the princess, and she relapsed into silence.

The young man held in his hand a cup-shaped instrument from which
extended a wire to the ground. He raised it to his lips, and instantly a
calm, deliberate voice came from the mirror, soft and low and yet loud,
enough to reach the most remote parts of the great room.

"The ocean," began he, "is pouring into the 'Volcano of the Dead' in a
gradually increasing torrent. Prince Marentel hopes temporarily to delay
the crisis by partially turning the torrent away from the pit into the
lowlands of the country. For that purpose a portion of the e