There was no sleep for any one that night; but the morning came and brought with it a blue sky and a gentle wind. There was not even a hint of disaster in the clear atmosphere. Hector got the big Napier out, and all but Desmond motored in to Arroch Head. He stayed behind with Mavis, to keep all breath of disaster from her ears. The little village street was full of white faced men, women and children, children frightened because their parents were frightened, yet realizing nothing of the danger ahead. “Any news?” asked Sir John, of old Weelum McGregor, the hotel keeper. “Aye, sir, an’ it’s no verra guid. Paris is on fire the noo. There was an internal explosion in the neighbourhood of Versailles yestere’en, and soon the roads were running with molten lava. Paris caught fire, and every one is powerless to suppress it.” Three days passed. England and Scotland were isolated—entirely cut off from the outer world. They had just to wait and pray that their time of tribulation would not come. The night was extraordinarily dark, the wind moaned and rose in mighty gusts. The rain came down in torrents. The thunder rolled in the distance, and occasionally flashes of lightning lit up the horizon. Mavis was very restless. “Is anything the matter, Dez?” she asked, as he sat by her bedside. “Why, dear?” “You look worried. You make me feel anxious.” “I’ve been worried about you, my darling, that’s all,” and he lied glibly to the sick woman. Then there suddenly rose on the air a terrific sound, worse than the loudest peal of thunder, and the room was brilliantly lighted from without as though by a mighty fire. Mavis rose up in bed; her limbs were shaking and she drew the sleeping babe still closer to her breast. “What is it, what is it, Dez? No, no, don’t leave me,” as Desmond was about to leave the room. He put his arms about her and crooned to her as if she had been a baby. The noise was terrible—one long, mighty roar. The room shook with the vibration, and the light from without grew brighter and brighter. Sir John entered. “Mavis, my dear, you mustn’t be frightened. Hector and Masters are launching the Argenta—we are going to take you up in her.” “What is happening?” “I don’t quite know, my dear, but Ben Lawers has broken out in flames. Schiehallion and Ben More in the distance are belching out heavy, dark smoke—I think it’s volcanic action. Now, we’ve talked the whole matter over, and we feel that the safest place is inside the airship.” “But listen to the wind—could it live in such a storm?” “It is the safest place,” said Sir John firmly. “We will carry you and baby down in a hammock. Nurse has already packed you a goodly store of clothes, and then we’ll all sail away to a more healthy spot.” “Are you sure there’s no danger?” “No, my dear! It’s a magnificent sight to see the grand old Ben belching out smoke and flames. Lava is pouring down his sides into the Tay, and Killin is lighted up so that you can see the houses as if it was day.”