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.
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