But Swift, lifting up his bewildered eyes, took in the glorious blue sky and sun, then his gaze fell upon the horror from which they had escaped. Mechanically he searched the pockets of his trousers. Out of his pistol pocket he pulled a flask of brandy--all that survived to him of his outfit for this ghastly journey. This he had forgotten, otherwise it would have gone by the rail along with his pocketbook, to lighten the car. "Not yet," he said, pushing aside the professor's longing hand, "the lady first!" The brandy, the warm sun and the prospect of safety roused the girl considerably. Possibly Swifts supporting arm hastened her recuperation. Swift passed the bottle to Mr. Ticks, who drank, and coughed, and drank again. "It's St. Croix, vintage of forty-two," said Mr. Ticks, gratefully. The professor got what he could. But Swift would not touch any. He was experiencing a finer intoxication. His eyes met those of the girl, who had been the unconscious cause of all their danger. She seemed to perceive this, for she soon broke the profound silence by suggesting with a blush: "You needn't hold me so tight, sir. I'll try not to fall." "Can you talk now?" asked Mr. Ticks of their lady companion. This question deflected a possible embarrassment, but Swift, deeming it safe to allow no risk, did not relax his hold of the girl. "Are you a reporter?" he asked, with an unaccountable desire to keep the conversation in his own hands. "This gentleman and myself are on the _Daily Planet_, the other man is professor of the balloon." "How did you know?" she answered with a first approach to a smile. "I am, or at least I was, society reporter on the _Russell Telegraph_." The last word started Mr. Ticks up again. "You witnessed the destruction of Russell? Do you know that its cause is the despair of the world? Do you know----" "Oh, it was dreadful! dreadful! dreadful!" interrupted the girl with a shudder. "I was out in my boat alone and saw it all!" The lady hid her face. "I was so tired that morning I couldn't breathe. It was oppressive. The air was over-charged so strangely. You touched an iron post and a spark shot out and gave you a shock. I couldn't stay, so I begged off and took my lunch and my work in my little skiff and rowed two miles out and anchored and tried to write." "Can you state for the _Planet_, Miss----?" "Insula Magnet, that's my name, sir." "Miss Magnet, can you state at what exact hour the catastrophe occurred?" The balloon had now come to a standstill, and floated quietly above the lake and the doomed city. The four wriggled uncomfortably in the improvised seats. The ropes cut them. The sun beat upon them hotly. They were exhausted and hungry and parched.