their light, and they shed
no radiance on the horrors of their world. Below him was an abyss in
which countless souls were struggling, blindly, helplessly, until they
should again be called to duty in some sphere of material existence.
The stillness at first was deathlike, oppressive; but soon he became
aware of a dull, hissing noise, such as is produced on earth by the
fusion of metals. The invisible furnaces were lost in the impenetrable
darkness, but the heat was terrific; the internal fires of earth or
those of the Bible's hell must be sickly and pale in comparison with
this awful, invisible atmosphere of flame. Now and then a planet,
which, obeying Nature's laws even here, revolved around its mockery
of a sun, fell at his feet a river of fire. There was stillness
no longer. The roaring and the exploding of the fusing metals, or
whatever it might be, filled the vast region like the hoarse cries
of wild beasts and the hissing of angry serpents. It was deafening,
maddening. And there was no relief but to plunge into that abyss and
drown individuality. He flew downward, and as he paused a moment on
the brink, he looked across to the opposite bank and saw a figure
about to take the leap like himself. It was a dim, shadowy shape, but
even in the blackness he knew its waving grace. And she pointed down
into the abyss of blind, helpless, unintelligent torment, and then--

XII.

Dartmouth suddenly found himself standing upright, his shoulders
clutched in a pair of strong hands, and Hollington's anxious face a
few inches from his own.

"What the devil is the matter with you, Hal?" exclaimed Hollington.
"Have you set up a private lunatic asylum, or is it but prosaic
dyspepsia?"

"Becky!" exclaimed Dartmouth, as he grasped the situation. "I _am_ so
glad to see you. Where did you come from?"

"You frightened your devoted Jones to death with one of your
starvation moods, and he telegraphed for me. The idea of a man having
the blues in the second month of his engagement to the most charming
girl in Christendom!"

"Don't speak to me of her," exclaimed Dartmouth, throwing himself into
a chair and covering his face with his hands.

"Whew! What's up? You haven't quarrelled already? Or won't the
governor give his consent?"

"No," said Dartmouth, "that's not it."

"Then what the devil is the matter? Is--is she dead?"

"No."

"Was she married to some other man before?"

"No!"

"I beg your pardon; I was merely