“Like the wings of birds; and have the same forward and downward stroke, by a direct piston action. The impetus is given, after a descent in air--which I effected by starting from a height of six feet only--by a combination of heated naphtha and of india rubber under torsion. By steam alone, in 1842, Philips made a model of a flying-machine soar across two fields. Penaud’s machine, relying only on india rubber under torsion, flies for some fifty yards. What a model can do, as Bishop Wilkins well observes, a properly weighted and proportioned flying-machine, capable of carrying a man, can do also.” “But yours, when I first had the pleasure of meeting you, was not carrying you at all.” “Something had gone wrong with the mechanism,” answered Winter, sighing. “It is always so. An inventor has many things to contend against. Remember Ark-wright, and how he was puzzled hopelessly by that trifling error in the thickness of the valves in his spinning machine. He had to give half his profits to Strutt, the local blacksmith, before Strutt would tell him that he had only to chalk his valves! The thickness of a coating of chalk made all the difference. Some trifle like that, depend on it, interfered with my machine. You see, I am obliged to make my experiments at night, and in the dark, for fear of being discovered and anticipated. I have been on the verge--nay, _over_ the verge--of success. ‘No imaginable invention,’ Bishop Wilkins says, ‘could prove of greater benefit to the world, or greater glory to the author.’ A few weeks ago that glory was mine!” “Why a few weeks ago?” asked Barton. “Was your machine more advanced then than when I met you?” “I cannot explain what had happened to check its motion,” said Winter, wearily; “but a few weeks ago my _machine acted_, and I may say that I knew the sensations of a bird on the wing.” “Do you mean that you actually _flew_?” “For a very short distance, I did indeed, sir!” Barton looked at him curiously: two currents of thought--one wild and credulous, the other practical and professional--surged and met in his brain. The professional current proved the stronger for the moment. “Good-night,” he said. “You are tiring and over-exciting yourself. I will call again soon.” He _did_ call again, and Winter told him a tale which will be repeated in its proper place. CHAPTER XIV.--Found. “All precious things, discovered late, To those that seek them issue forth; For Love, in sequel, works with Fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth.” --The Sleeping Beauty.