hundred feet higher nothing could be seen of that darkening
landscape except the lines of lighted windows, each one of which, at
least, was the light of one lost intelligence. But on them as they swept
upward better and braver winds seemed to blow, and on them the ruby
light of evening seemed struck, and splashed like red spurts from the
grapes of Dionysus. Below them the fallen lights were literally the
fallen stars of servitude. And above them all the red and raging clouds
were like the leaping flags of liberty.

The man with the cloven chin seemed to have a singular power of
understanding thoughts; for, as Turnbull felt the whole universe tilt
and turn over his head, the stranger said exactly the right thing.

"Doesn't it seem as if everything were being upset?" said he; "and if
once everything is upset, He will be upset on top of it."

Then, as Turnbull made no answer, his host continued:

"That is the really fine thing about space. It is topsy-turvy. You have
only to climb far enough towards the morning star to feel that you are
coming down to it. You have only to dive deep enough into the abyss to
feel that you are rising. That is the only glory of this universe--it is
a giddy universe."

Then, as Turnbull was still silent, he added:

"The heavens are full of revolution--of the real sort of revolution. All
the high things are sinking low and all the big things looking small.
All the people who think they are aspiring find they are falling head
foremost. And all the people who think they are condescending find they
are climbing up a precipice. That is the intoxication of space. That is
the only joy of eternity--doubt. There is only one pleasure the angels
can possibly have in flying, and that is, that they do not know whether
they are on their head or their heels."

Then, finding his companion still mute, he fell himself into a smiling
and motionless meditation, at the end of which he said suddenly:

"So MacIan converted you?"

Turnbull sprang up as if spurning the steel car from under his feet.
"Converted me!" he cried. "What the devil do you mean? I have known him
for a month, and I have not retracted a single----"

"This Catholicism is a curious thing," said the man of the cloven chin
in uninterrupted reflectiveness, leaning his elegant elbows over the
edge of the vessel; "it soaks and weakens men without their knowing it,
just as I fear it has soaked and weakened you."

Turnbull stood in an attitude