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wove into a felt of yelling. The great fabric seemed to be standing on end for a second among the heeling and
splintering vans, and then it flew to pieces. Huge splinters came flying through the air, its engines burst like
shells. A hot rush of flame shot overhead into the darkling sky.
"Two!" he cried, with a bomb from overhead bursting as it fell, and forthwith he was beating up again. A
glorious exhilaration possessed him now, a giant activity. His troubles about humanity, about his inadequacy,
were gone for ever. He was a man in battle rejoicing in his power. Aeroplanes seemed radiating from him in
every direction, intent only upon avoiding him, the yelling of their packed passengers came in short gusts as
they swept by. He chose his third quarry, struck hastily and did but turn it on edge. It escaped him, to smash
against the tall cliff of London wall. Flying from that impact he skimmed the darkling ground so nearly he
CHAPTER XXV 141
could see a frightened rabbit bolting up a slope. He jerked up steeply, and found himself driving over south
London with the air about him vacant. To the right of him a wild riot of signal rockets from the Ostrogites
banged tumultuously in the sky. To the south the wreckage of half a dozen air ships flamed, and east and west
and north they fled before him. They drove away to the east and north, and went about in the south, for they
could not pause in the air. In their present confusion any attempt at evolution would have meant disastrous
collisions.
He passed two hundred feet or so above the Roehampton stage. It was black with people and noisy with their
frantic shouting. But why was the Wimbledon Park stage black and cheering, too? The smoke and flame of
Streatham now hid the three further stages. He curved about and rose to see them and the northern quarters.
First came the square masses of Shooter's Hill into sight, from behind the smoke, lit and orderly with the
aeroplane that had landed and its disembarking negroes. Then came Blackheath, and then under the corner of
the reek the Norwood stage. On Blackheath no aeroplane had landed. Norwood was covered by a swarm of
little figures running to and fro in a passionate confusion. Why? Abruptly he understood. The stubborn
defence of the flying stages was over, the people were pouring into the under-ways of these last strongholds of
Ostrog's usurpation. And then, from far away on the northern border of the city, full of glorious import to him,
came a sound, a signal, a note of triumph, the leaden thud of a gun. His lips fell apart, his face was disturbed
with emotion.
He drew an immense breath. "They win," he shouted to the empty air; "the people win!" The sound of a
second gun came like an answer. And then he saw the monoplane on Blackheath was running down its guides
to launch. It lifted clean and rose. It shot up into the air, driving straight southward and away from him.
In an instant it came to him what this meant. It must needs be Ostrog in flight. He shouted and dropped
towards it. He had the momentum of his elevation and fell slanting down the air and very swiftly. It rose
steeply at his approach. He allowed for its velocity and drove straight upon it.
It suddenly became a mere flat edge, and behold! he was past it, and driving headlong down with all the force
of his futile blow.
He was furiously angry. He reeled the engine back along its shaft and went circling up. He saw Ostrog's
machine beating up a spiral before him. He rose straight towards it, won above it by virtue of the impetus of
his swoop and by the advantage and weight of a man. He dropped headlong--dropped and missed again! As he
rushed past he saw the face of Ostrog's aeronaut confident and cool and in Ostrog's attitude a wincing
resolution. Ostrog was looking steadfastly away from him--to the south. He realized with a gleam of wrath
how bungling his flight must be. Below he saw the Croydon hills. He jerked upward and once more he gained
on his enemy.
He glanced over his shoulder and his attention was arrested. The eastward stage, the one on Shooter's Hill,
appeared to lift; a flash changing to a tall grey shape, a cowled figure of smoke and dust, jerked into the air.
For a moment this cowled figure stood motionless, dropping huge masses of metal from its shoulders, and
then it began to uncoil a dense head of smoke. The people had blown it up, aeroplane and all! As suddenly a
second flash and grey shape sprang up from the Norwood stage. And even as he stared at this came a dead
report; and the air wave of the first explosion struck him. He was flung up and sideways.
For a moment his monoplane fell nearly edgewise with her nose down, and seemed to hesitate whether to
overset altogether. He stood on his wind-shield, wrenching the wheel that swayed up over his head. And then
the shock of the second explosion took his machine sideways.
He found himself clinging to one of the ribs of his machine, and the air was blowing past him and upward. He
seemed to be hanging quite still in the air, with the wind blowing up past him. It occurred to him that he was
falling. Then he was sure that he was falling. He could not look down.
CHAPTER XXV 142
He found himself recapitulating with incredible swiftness all that had happened since his awakening, the days
of doubt, the days of Empire, and at last the tumultuous discovery of Ostrog's calculated treachery.
The vision had a quality of utter unreality. Who was he? Why was he holding so tightly with his hands? Why
could he not let go? In such a fall as this countless dreams have ended. But in a moment he would wake....
His thoughts ran swifter and swifter. He wondered if he should see Helen again. It seemed so unreasonable
that he should not see her again. It must be a dream! Yet surely he would meet her. She at least was real. She
was real. He would wake and meet her.
Although he could not look at it, he was suddenly aware that the earth was very near.
THE END.
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