The heat was so intense that the Argenta rose to a great height and remained among the clouds. After some days she descended, but seemed to be in a new world altogether. There was a large tract of barren land stretched out before them—gone was the Atlantic in its vastness. Dead bodies lay strewn about—the remains of great ships were embedded in the earth. Animals, humanity, fish, lay mixed together in that arid waste. Suddenly Alan spoke, very reverently. “And the sea shall give up its dead.” “The Atlantic?” whispered Sir John. “I think so,” answered Alan. And as they watched there came a mighty sound, greater than any they had heard before. The whole world shook, and for one moment was a living ball of fire. Then it shivered violently, split into a thousand pieces, and from its gaping wounds belched forth smoke and flames. Once more came the terrible sound, the sound of a world’s death cry; there was a mighty crash, the flames went out and where the world had been—was nothing. All was black, all was gone; the earth had returned to its original state; the sea had disappeared entirely; shapeless, dark,—the earth was dead! And in her last convulsive hold on life, she shook the very heavens. The Argenta was whirled round and round in a maelstrom of agony, and then was shot into space. With a mighty effort Masters released the shutters, and filled the intervening cavity with the ether. It was his last conscious act. On, on went the Argenta, at a terrific speed. The fury of the heavens seemed let loose, and the atom in the firmament was like a wisp of wool in its grasp. Turning, twisting, rolling, the Argenta was borne on the bosom of the whirlwind, and carried with its seven souls of Terra; seven souls that had escaped from, but had witnessed The End Of The World. BOOK IV THE PERFECT WORLD CHAPTER I IN SPACE Space—infinite space! On, on, swept the Argenta through the heavens at frightful speed. The engines were useless; the levers refused to work, and the occupants of the airship sat within the shuttered vessel, helpless. For days they had eaten nothing—they were unable to move; terror had them fast within its grasp. “Sir John,” said Masters at last, “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Here we are, and here we must remain until our food gives out. Mrs. Desmond,—won’t you come and help me?” Mavis rose from an armchair, and tenderly laid the sleeping babe on the cushions of a settee. “My baby,” she murmured, “to think I bore you for this.” “Come, Mrs. Desmond,” and Masters led the way to the tiny kitchen.