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, and during the half-minute that he watched it
rose another degree. There was no mistaking such a warning as that. He
had brought two little liqueur glasses in his pocket from the saloon. He
divided the morphine between them, and filled them up with water.
"Not until the last moment, dear," said Zaidie, as he set one of them
before her. "We have no right to do it until then."
"Very well. When the mercury reaches a hundred and fifty.
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