“Oh! how sweet to feel and know
E’en in this hour of dread, that dear to Thee
Is the confiding spirit!”
E. Taylor.
“Henceforth I learn that to obey is best,
And love with fear the only God; to walk
As in His presence; ever to observe
His providence, and on Him sole depend,
Merciful over all His works, with good
Still overcoming evil, and by small
Accomplishing great things, by things deemed weak
Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise
By simply meek!”
Milton.
It is the darkest hour of night, that hour which precedes the dawn. A thousand stars are spangling the deep azure of the sky, looking down, like angels’ eyes, on a world of sin and sorrow. Augustine’s gaze is fixed upon one beauteous planet, which, in its calm light, outshines the tremulous glory of the constellations. Mabel has wearily fallen asleep where she sits, resting her head on her arm, the piercing cold of the upper air making her slumber the deeper. The earl, still stretched at the bottom of the car, is also finding a short oblivion of woe, and in dreams is wandering again upon the warm, bright, joyous earth, with Annabella at his side.
[223]
Augustine, on his dizzy height, in the stillness of the hour, feels himself alone with his God. The conversation held at the vicarage with his brother now recurs to his mind with a deep and solemn effect. Augustine draws a mental parallel between his own present awful position and that in which his soul has for so long unfearingly remained. Has he not been, as it were, floating between earth and heaven, carried up by his pride, full inflated as that swollen ball which is at this moment bearing him onward perhaps to destruction! Has he any reason to rejoice that he has risen high above the mass of his fellow-creatures, if his very exaltation prove the means of his deeper fall!
“Yes, fool that I was! I believed my intellect formed to pierce through the mists, to rise above the clouds, to find for itself a path that no mortal had discovered before! With proud presumption I refused the guidance of Faith in those regions to which Faith alone has access. I trusted to reason—philosophy—genius!—what have they done for me here? I have proved unequal even to the task of regulating the motions of this silken machine, yet I feared not to steer my own way through the vast mysteries of spiritual knowledge! As regards the soul as well as its mortal tenement, I have been the sport of the changing winds, enwrapt in the seething mist, struggling on through thickening darkness—and to what point now have I reached? I see the[224] calm, still stars above me, shining like the eternal truths which audacious Pride once dared to question; I view the orbs which for ages unnumbered have kept their steady course through infinite space, upheld by the Power and Wisdom whose mysteries I vainly sought to fathom; earth’s lights have all faded and gone, the brightest illumine no more, the clearest throw no ray on this darkness,—the gems of the firmament alone, unchanged and unapproachable by man, are glittering over me still!
“Yes, I feel myself an atom in the vast universe which is filled by God! And yet man’s moral responsibility—the awful trust of an immortal, an accountable soul—give a fearful dignity to him still! Am I fit to appear in the presence of Him before whose throne I so soon may stand? Is there anything in myself to which I can cling for support in the day of judgment? Can I plead my merits—my virtues—my works? No; the truth is forced upon me here, which mortal presumption so long refused to acknowledge. As well might I fling myself from this car, and falling a thousand fathoms hope to reach the earth uninjured, as trust to find safety for a guilty and sentenced soul without the one sacrifice for sin, the atonement provided for those who with child-like faith rest upon it, and it only!”
As Augustine pursued his solemn meditations, gradually the stars became dimmer at the approach of the dawn, even as the heavenly lights vouchsafed[225] to guide us here, will pale in the radiance of a more perfect knowledge of a more glorious day; the deep blue sky assumed a somewhat lighter hue, and the looming outline of the balloon was seen more distinctly against it.
“Do my eyes deceive me,” thought Augustine, “or is the curve of that outline less bold than it appeared in the light of the setting sun? It may be but fancy, but it seems as though the ball were less fully inflated; I could imagine that I even perceive what resembles a wrinkle in the silk. God in mercy grant that this new hope be not an illusion!” As he spoke, something like the smoke-wreath from the mouth of a discharged cannon floated upwards not far from the car, then another and another, all ascending lightly from beneath, and mounting high above the balloon.
“The clouds appear to rise!” exclaimed Augustine eagerly; “a sure sign that we ourselves are descending!” He started from his seat, and grasping a rope, looked over into the abyss.
The dim grey twilight scarcely yet sufficed to show objects distinctly, though not a single cloud now obscured the wide spreading prospect below. Augustine strained his eyes with gazing for several minutes before he became fully assured of the nature of what lay beneath him. One long faint streak of red at length clearly defined the line where the sky met the rounded horizon; there was no object, not[226] the smallest, to break that hard sharp line which separated misty blue from deepening crimson; nor swelling hill, nor rising mountain was there; Augustine’s pulse beat quicker and he gasped as for breath, for he was now convinced of two facts, each of thrilling importance,—that the Eaglet was quickly descending, and that it was descending into the sea!
“The breeze must have borne us above the Channel, and may bear us across it, if for but one or two hours we can keep the balloon aloft! But the gas is evidently fast escaping, and unless I lighten the car, we shall soon be precipitated into the wide waste of waters beneath!”
With almost the rapidity of thought, Augustine caught up the large bag of ballast and flung it out of the car. In the lapse of—as it seemed—two or three minutes, a splashing sound distinctly came from below, the first noise exterior to the car which had reached the ear of Augustine for many a weary hour. Slight as it was, it seemed sufficient to startle the earl from his sleep; he opened his eyes, and gave a little start of horror at the sight of the vast ball above him, which in an instant brought back to him the consciousness of what had occurred.
“Still this living death!” he exclaimed, and his voice awakened Mabel.
“It is very, very cold,” she murmured drowsily; “and is the night really gone, and the beautiful[227] morning breaking? These soft rosy clouds are above us now, perhaps we may see—”
“Do not look down, Mabel!” cried her uncle.
But the word came too late,—the trembling girl was already surveying the broad, smooth ocean plain.
“Where can we be going?” she exclaimed; “it is one flat blue expanse below, and there is a scent as if from the sea!”
“We must be over the Channel,” said Dashleigh; “Augustine Aumerle, what are you doing?”
His friend had lifted up his box of instruments and flung it over the side; the basket then followed. Augustine laid his hand on the grappling irons, but paused, till, at a shorter interval than before, the splash was heard from the sea.
“Are we sinking down?” exclaimed Mabel and Dashleigh as if with one breath.
Augustine nodded an assent, and threw over the grappling irons. Nothing remained in the car which could be flung away to lighten the balloon.
“Oh! what will become of us?—what will become of us?” exclaimed Mabel, clasping her hands in terror, as death in a new form stared her in the face.
“Nothing will keep the balloon up,” said Augustine Aume............