A pebble thrown into still waters, a thought thrown from Heaven into a clear mind, and ripples spreading down through history! We all know how Brand I. built the etheric ship, fighting his way through the long silent years of galling poverty and majestic thought. He was a lad when he threw the pebble, an old man when he set the engines in motion, sounded the chord of mass at last, lifted the ship from the earth--then failed to arrest its motion. In that strange sepulchre his body rests, wandering down the starways, lost in the depths of space, lighted by blazing suns, threading the constellations for ever and ever. John Brand II., the builder of Lyonesse, was more daring than his father, and always more practical. His etheric ship, _Mars_, was brought under perfect control, and with Lock's propellor developed undreamed-of speed. The _Mars_ had a quality of attracting dust, drawing raindrops after her, and even small birds. Pebbles thrown from her port-holes would not fall, but followed in the wake as satellites. Her compass needle pointed fore and aft indifferent to the magnetism of the earth. About her hull strange wandering fires flickered and gleamed at night, and in the cloud-fields as she passed above them, dull thunders muttered, with tremulous lightnings. It was an attempt upon his life by anarchists which drove Mr. Brand II. to the idea of defence. Like the stone spreading ripples on still waters, his engines of the _Mars_ could send out waves into the ether. He surrounded the ship with a small sphere of electric ripples, and high explosives are so sensitive to these vibrations that no shell or torpedo could enter this field of tension without being instantly disturbed. So the _Mars_ was clothed with an electric armour, and the steel planet became invulnerable. And she could attack, projecting her electric waves ten miles through space to explode the cartridges carried by hostile troops, the ammunition of attacking field guns, the magazines of fortresses and ships. John Brand II. sent out his fleet as he sent out his gold to serve mankind in the quiet channels of commerce. The engineers and captains of Lyonesse grew old in his service, and never knew the secret of the ships, their fearful powers as applied to war. John Brand III. reigned in his father's stead, and still the planets served as merchantmen, and the lightnings slept in their engines. No man had ever seen etheric power in action, no man, save Brand, could wield the destroying flame. And now the Channel Fleet had ordered him to surrender. His planet of forged steel lay resting. Ice glistened on her flanks from frosty sprays of cirrii streaming past her. Beneath were the labouring battleships, the white seas of cloud, and the newly risen sun blazed red in the east. Above her the stars in millions thronged the black deeps of Heaven. A message flashed down to the flagship instruments. "Come up and fight me," said the _Mary Rose_.