I glanced covertly at Ventnor, at Drake--had I imagined, or had they too seen? Then I knew they had seen, for Ventnor's face was white to the lips, and Drake's jaw was set, his teeth clenched, his eyes blazing with anger. “What's she doing to Ruth--you saw her face,” he gritted, half inarticulately. “Ruth!” There was anguish in Ventnor's cry. She did not turn again. It was as though she had not heard him. The cubes were now not five yards apart. Drake gathered himself; strained to loosen his feet from the shining surface, making ready to leap when they should draw close enough. His great chest swelled with his effort, the muscles of his neck knotted, sweat steamed down his face. “No use,” he gasped, “no use, Goodwin. It's like trying to lift yourself by your boot-straps--like a fly stuck in molasses.” “Ruth,” cried Ventnor once more. As though it had been a signal the block darted forward, resuming the distance it had formerly maintained between us. The vanguard of the Metal Things began to race. With an incredible speed they fled into, were lost in an instant within, the luminous distances. The cube that bore the woman and girl accelerated; flew faster and faster onward. And as swiftly our own followed it. The lustrous walls flowed by, dizzily. We had swept over toward the right wall of the cleft and were gliding over a broad ledge. This ledge was, I judged, all of a hundred feet in width. From it the floor of the place was dropping rapidly. The opposite precipices were slowly drawing closer. After us flowed the flanking host. Steadily our ledge arose and the floor of the canyon dropped. Now we were twenty feet above it, now thirty. And the character of the cliffs was changing. Veins of quartz shone under the metallic plating like cut crystal, like cloudy opals; here was a splash of vermilion, there a patch of amber; bands of pallid ochre stained it. My gaze was caught by a line of inky blackness in the exact center of the falling floor. So black was it that at first glance I took it for a vein of jetty lignite. It widened. It was a crack, a fissure. Now it was a yard in width, now three, and blackness seemed to well up from within it, blackness that was the very essence of the depths. Steadily the ebon rift expanded; spread suddenly wide open in two sharp-edged, flying wedges-- Earth had dropped away. At our side a gulf had opened, an abyss, striking down depth upon depth; profound; immeasurable. We were human atoms, riding upon a steed of sorcery and racing along a split rampart of infinite space. I looked behind--scores of the cubes were darting from the metal host trailing us; in a long column of twos they flashed by, raced ahead. Far in front of us a gloom began to grow; deepened until we were rushing into blackest night.