“We must be married in June,” Lionel said again, for having once made up his mind he was not likely to change it. “We will spend the summer abroad, and go to India next winter. By that time they will have got used to the idea, and a year hence we can come home.” “That sounds delightful,” Ellen answered. “I wish we could take my father, for no one knows India as he does. But then, we couldn’t be alone all the time, if he came.” “I should like to take him,” said Lionel. “Perhaps we could bargain for so many hours a day!” But they did not take Mr. Herbert Scott of the British Museum to India, or anywhere else; for things turned out very differently. The Fate of the Follitts had been dozing comfortably for some time, but now she suddenly woke up refreshed with sleep, and got into the balloon with Jocelyn and the Trevelyans, and did queer things, which nobody else could have done. CHAPTER VII The wind was fresh from the south-west, with rain, and the night was dark. The balloon was driving along at a dangerous rate, considering the low altitude. “I give it up,” said Bob Trevelyan, who had not spoken for a long time. “We’ve been travelling five hours, and I haven’t the vaguest idea where we are.” “Does it matter much?” inquired Jocelyn lazily. For he was comfortable where he was, and hoped that it would go on a long time, since he was pleasantly close to Anne Trevelyan in the bottom of the car. No one who has not been up in a gale can have any idea of the profound quiet which seems to enfold the balloon as it is borne noiselessly along in the arms of the wind, perhaps at thirty or forty miles an hour. If it rains, you hear the drops pattering on the envelope overhead; if you are near the ground at night, the howling of the wind through the unseen trees comes up to you in a rather dismal way; but no matter how hard it blows, there is peace and tranquillity in the car. Anne Trevelyan and her friend Lady Dorothy Wynne were poring over a map, by the light of an electric lamp which Jocelyn held for them. “It might matter a little,” Anne said, looking up with a laugh as she spoke; “for the only thing that is quite certain is that we are bound to get to the sea pretty soon. I think I’ll have a look.” She got up, and all three scrambled to their feet and peered over the edge of the car. “It really is rather a dirty night,” observed Lady Dorothy, with great calm. “Distinctly,” said Anne, admitting what could not be denied. Jocelyn said nothing, for he knew that a woman who is inaccessible to physical fear is much more reckless than any brave and sensible man has a right to be, and he was beginning to wonder what the end would be like, and how many arms and legs, or even necks, would be broken before morning. For it was his first ascent, and though he was not scared he realised that there was danger.