“The clouds appear to rise!” exclaimed Augustine eagerly; “a sure sign that we ourselves are descending!” He started from his seat, and grasping a rope, looked over into the abyss. The dim grey twilight scarcely yet sufficed to show objects distinctly, though not a single cloud now obscured the wide spreading prospect below. Augustine strained his eyes with gazing for several minutes before he became fully assured of the nature of what lay beneath him. One long faint streak of red at length clearly defined the line where the sky met the rounded horizon; there was no object, not the smallest, to break that hard sharp line which separated misty blue from deepening crimson; nor swelling hill, nor rising mountain was there; Augustine’s pulse beat quicker and he gasped as for breath, for he was now convinced of two facts, each of thrilling importance,—that the _Eaglet_ was quickly descending, and that it was descending into the sea! “The breeze must have borne us above the Channel, and may bear us across it, if for but one or two hours we can keep the balloon aloft! But the gas is evidently fast escaping, and unless I lighten the car, we shall soon be precipitated into the wide waste of waters beneath!” With almost the rapidity of thought, Augustine caught up the large bag of ballast and flung it out of the car. In the lapse of—as it seemed—two or three minutes, a splashing sound distinctly came from below, the first noise exterior to the car which had reached the ear of Augustine for many a weary hour. Slight as it was, it seemed sufficient to startle the earl from his sleep; he opened his eyes, and gave a little start of horror at the sight of the vast ball above him, which in an instant brought back to him the consciousness of what had occurred. “Still this living death!” he exclaimed, and his voice awakened Mabel. “It is very, very cold,” she murmured drowsily; “and is the night really gone, and the beautiful morning breaking? These soft rosy clouds are above us now, perhaps we may see—” “Do not look down, Mabel!” cried her uncle. But the word came too late,—the trembling girl was already surveying the broad, smooth ocean plain. “Where can we be going?” she exclaimed; “it is one flat blue expanse below, and there is a scent as if from the sea!” “We must be over the Channel,” said Dashleigh; “Augustine Aumerle, what are you doing?” His friend had lifted up his box of instruments and flung it over the side; the basket then followed. Augustine laid his hand on the grappling irons, but paused, till, at a shorter interval than before, the splash was heard from the sea. “Are we sinking down?” exclaimed Mabel and Dashleigh as if with one breath. Augustine nodded an assent, and threw over the grappling irons. Nothing remained in the car which could be flung away to lighten the balloon. “Oh! what will become of us?—what will become of us?” exclaimed Mabel, clasping her hands in terror, as death in a new form stared her in the face.