And above the roofs, some miles away, outlined against the sky, hung the crippled Zeppelin, motionless, tilted. We watched it fascinated. Slowly we saw it right itself, and begin to move. It headed towards the coast, but it could only flee into its worst enemy--the dawn. It travelled, it dwindled. The sea haze began to enfold it. The clamour of our gun fire suddenly ceased. It toiled like a wounded sea bird towards its only hope--the sea. As we watched it fierce wings whirred unseen overhead. Our aeroplanes had taken up the chase. The Zeppelin travelled, travelled. _What was that?_ A spark of light appeared upon it. It stretched, it leaped into a great flame. The long body of the Zeppelin was seen to be alight from end to end. Then rose simultaneously from every throat in Riff a shout of triumph, the shrill cries of the children joining with the voices of the elders. And, after that one cry, silence fell upon us, as we watched that towering furnace of flame, freighted with agony, sink slowly to the earth. At last it sank out of sight, leaving a pillar of smoke to mark its passing. So windless was the air that the smoke remained like some solemn upraised finger pointing from earth to heaven. No one stirred. No one spoke. The light grew. And, in the silence of our awed hearts, a cuckoo near at hand began calling gently to the new day, coming up in peace out of the shining east. The Romance of His Life I have always believed that the exact moment when the devil entered into Barrett was four forty-five p.m. on a certain June afternoon, when he and I were standing at Parker's door in the court at ----s. He says himself that he was as pure as snow till that instant, and that if the _entente cordiale_ between himself and that very interesting and stimulating personality had not been established he is convinced he would either have died young of excessive virtue, or have become a missionary. I don't know about that. I only know the consequences of the _entente_ aged me. But then Barrett says I was born middle-aged like Maitland himself, the hero of this romance, if so it can be called. Barrett calls it a romance. I call it--I don't know what to call it, but it covers me with shame whenever I think of it. Barrett says that shame is a very wholesome discipline, a great eye-opener and brain stretcher, and one he has unfortunately never had the benefit of, so he feels it a duty to act so as to make the experience probable in the near future.