But the marvel of marvels was to come; and it came swiftly, in that deep silence of the spheres, which is as the silence of Him by whom all things were made. Yes, all created things, thought Linton, filled with wonder--the earth beneath them, still partly hidden from sight, the limitless realms of the air through which they moved, and this great orb of day that was rising as if from the depths of some immeasurable crater. Presently the sun, as it climbed above the cloud rim, began to flood with pure and glorious light the rolling tracts of vapour that surrounded them, like an illimitable molten sea, whose billows glowed and gleamed beneath the darting beams. Higher and higher rose the _Bladud_, a tiny speck in the midst of the immeasurable clouds, which ever broke and crumbled into new shapes and shreds in full light of the broadening sunshine. Already the morning mists below were in some measure dispelled, and through the breaking vapour glimpses of the earth became more plainly visible. At a height of 9,000 feet, the surrounding oceans and mountains of vapour assumed a hue of roseate violet that far transcended the beauty of anything upon which Linton's eyes had ever looked before; while from the east a thousand golden rays--pathways of light and glory--were darted forth above the sleeping world. When they had reached a height of 13,000 feet, the air was almost clear, and far down below London became visible--London so mighty, yet now so insignificant! Linton could see a railway train creeping out of Paddington like some little caterpillar on a garden path. The steam from the engine was but a thin serpentine mist, like smoke from a man's pipe. Everything below was flat and dwarfed to one mean artificial-looking plane. Away East, the dome of St. Paul's seemed scarcely more important than a thimble. The Docks were merely an elaborate toy in sections; the rolling Thames a winding ditch; the ships like little playthings for young children. Yet the range of view had become enormous, and as the morning cleared Wilton pointed out hills and church steeples that were a hundred miles away. In that solemn and wonderful hour Linton Herrick felt within himself, as Goethe did, the germs of undeveloped faculties--faculties that men must not expect to see developed in life as it is, so far, known to us. Yet there was the aspiration in his heart and soul. How glorious for the astral body to plunge into the aerial space; to look unmoved on some unfathomable abyss; to glide above the roaring seas; to mount with eagle's strength to heights unthinkable! Looking upon the supernal grandeur of the sunrise, he realised that he was in the presence of God's daily miracle. It steeped his soul in faith and thankfulness. * * * * *