"About twelve hours," Rogers consulted the memoranda. "He computes his average speed as equivalent to the twelfth intensity. We are using the fifteenth continuously. Our clocks should register no more than ten hours for the time-flight. "Ten hours," he added thoughtfully. "And flying directly south at a hundred miles an hour we would reach the island in those ten hours." "But we haven't started south yet," George protested. "We're moving through time all right, but we're still right over Newark--and look at it!" The New Jersey metropolis was spreading west to the Orange Mountains, and eastward it seemed to be linked solid with Jersey City. Factories dotted the intervening meadows, which were drained of their stagnant water. "You're right," exclaimed Rogers. "We have barely nine hours left; we must start our horizontal flight." In a few moments more they were speeding south and slightly west, at an altitude of some five thousand feet, with their progress through time steadily accelerating. An hour, by their clocks, had passed. They were over Delaware Bay. Its shores, in the more congested areas, were lined almost solid with buildings. There was a great city on each side of the mouth of the river, with a gigantic bridge connecting them. The bridge rose into being under the eyes of the watchers in the flying plane, but they swept on past and in a moment left it far in the distance behind them. George was seated on the floor watching the changing landscape; a huge, concave gray surface, shadowless, stretching out and up to the circular horizon. Steadily, like a panorama unrolled, it slid sidewise beneath them. The motion was greatest directly below. To the west, the mountains seemed, by an optical illusion, to be following, speeding forward with them. The sea or its arms constantly occupied a portion of the scene, for they were still flying south and somewhat west, following the Atlantic coast. And of everything in sight, the sea alone seemed unchanging. In time-progressing, that height of civilization Loto had described lay under them. They were flying lower now. Rogers, in his seat at the controls, said: "I think we're making it as we should. That's the four thousand year mark just passed, and we're flying at a hundred and ten miles an hour." "Are you sure we'll hit it right?" George asked anxiously. "I think so. It's about as Loto figured so far. Those buildings--what a civilization that must be down there. It will fade presently...in three or four thousand years." George joined him at the forward window. "Where are we? Are we still over Virginia?" "Yes, at least I think we haven't crossed into North Carolina yet. That was Chesapeake Bay a while ago. Look! That city over there is melting--going down fast!"