nd, the Lord only knows
where, and have suddenly been transported to a new world!"

"I can't feel at all as if we were in the world we were born in,"
returned Johnston. "I feel strange."

"The wine," suggested the Englishman, "you know it did wonders for us in
that subwater thing."

"No; the wine has nothing to do with it. My head never was clearer. The
very atmosphere is peculiar. The air is invigorating, and I can't get
enough of it."

"That is exactly the way I feel," was Thorndyke's answer.

"Look at the sunlight," went on Johnston; "it is gray like our dawn, but
see how transparent it is. You can look through it for miles and miles.
It is becoming pink in the east, the sun will soon be up, and I am
curious to see it."

"It must be up now, but we cannot see it for the hills and buildings. My
goodness, see that!" and the Englishman pointed to the east. A flood of
delicate pink light was now pouring into the vast body of gray and
was slowly driving the more sombre color toward the west. The line
of separation was marked--so marked, indeed, that it seemed a vast,
rose-colored billow rolling, widening and sweeping onward like a swell
of the ocean shoreward. On it came rapidly, till the whole landscape was
magically changed. The flowers, the trees, the grass, the waters of the
lakes, the white buildings, the costumes of the people in the streets,
even the sky, changed in aspect. The white clouds looked like fire-lit
smoke, and far toward the west rolled the long line of pink still
struggling with the gray and driving it back.

The sun now came into sight, a great bleeding ball of fire slowly rising
above the gilded roofs in the distance.

"By Jove, look at our shadows!" exclaimed Johnston, and both men gazed
at the balcony floor in amazement; their shadows were as clearly defined
and black as silhouettes. "How do you account for that?" continued
the American, "I am firmly convinced that this sun is not the orb that
shines over my native land."

Thorndyke laughed, but his laugh was forced. "How absurd! and yet--" He
extended his hand over the balustrade into the rosy glow, and
without concluding his remark held it back into the shadow of the
window-casement. "By Jove!" he exclaimed; "there is not a particle of
warmth in it. It is exactly the same temperature in the shade as in the
light." He moved back against the wall. "No; there is no difference; the
blamed thing doesn't give out any warmth."

Johnston's ha