It was a scene with which he had been familiar fromboyhood. Of late he had explored every nook and corner ofit with Addie Mequillen， and at all times of the year it hadseemed beautiful to him. But under the glare and brilliance ofthis extraordinary light everything seemed changed. All overthat vast prospect great pillars of smoke and flame were risingto the sky. From the valley beneath them came the shrieks andcries of men and women， and as the two men watched theysaw the evergreens in Mequillen’s garden suddenly turn to thewhiteness of paper， and shrivel and disappear in fine ashes.
“Look there！” whispered Mequillen， pointing a shakingfinger. “There—Dorking’s on fire！ And yonder， Reigate， too！”
Gockerlyne tried to speak， but his tongue rattled in hismouth like a dry pea， in a drier pod. He touched Mequillen’sarm and pointed downward， and Mequillen nodded.
“Yes，” he said. “We had better go down to them； they’ve gotto know.”
He took Cockerlyne by the hand and led him back to theobservatory， which， in spite of the fact that all its shutters weredrawn， was full of light. And as they stepped into it a spark ofwhite flame suddenly appeared in the woodwork， and ran likelightning round the rim of the dome.
“On fire！” said Mequillen quietly. “It’s no good， Cockerlyne；we can’t do anything. The end’s come！ We—oh， my God，what’s this？ What is this？ Cockerlyne—Cockerlyne， where areyou？”
For just as suddenly as they had seen the greyness of thegreat fog snatched away from the earth， so now they saw theextraordinary light which had succeeded it snatched away. Itwas gone in the flash of an eye， with the speed of lightning，and as it went they felt the earth move and shudder， and allaround them fell a blackness such as they had never known.
And as the two men gripped each other in their terror theresuddenly burst upon the dome of the observatory a storm ofwhat seemed to be bullets—fierce， insistent， incessant. Theserpent-like trail of fire in the woodwork quivered once anddied out. And Mequillen， trembling in every limb， released hishold on Cockerlyne， and staggered against the nearest wall.
“Rain！” he said. “Rain！”
In the darkness， Mequillen heard Cockerlyne first stumbleabout， and then fall heavily. Then he knew that Cockerlynehad fainted， and he made his way to a switch and turned onthe electric light， and got water to bring him round. But whenhe came round， Cockerlyne for some minutes croaked andgabbled incessantly， and it was not until Mequillen had hurrieddown to the dining-room for brandy for him that he regainedhis senses and was able to sit up， gasping and staring abouthim. He pointed a shaking finger to the aperture in the dome，through which the rain was pouring， unheeded by Mequillen，in a ceaseless cascade.
“Where is—It？” he gasped. “What—what’s come of It？”
Mequillen shook him to his feet， and made him swallowmore brandy.
“Pull yourself together， Cockerlyne！” he said. “This is no timeto talk science； this is a time to act. Come down， man； we mustsee to the women！ We’ve just escaped from fire； now we’relikely to meet our deaths by water. Listen to that rain， Here， helpme to close that shutter. Now， downstairs！ It’s lucky we’re on ahillside， Cockerlyne！ But the people in the valleys！ Come on！”
And， leaving Cockerlyne to follow him， Mequillen ran downthrough the house， to find his sister and the housekeeper in thehall. As he saw them， he knew that they had realised what henow had time to realise—that the terrible heat was dying away，and that it was becoming easier and easier to breathe. As hepassed it he glanced at a hanging thermometer， and saw themercury falling in a steady， swift descent.
Mequillen caught his sister in his arms and pressed her tohim. She looked anxiously into his face.
“Dick？” she said.
“He’s safe—he’s coming，” said Mequillen.
Addie suddenly collapsed， and hid her face in her hands. Thehousekeeper was already in a heap in the nearest chair， sobbingand moaning. And as Cockerlyne came slowly down the stairs，Mequillen saw that， strong man as he was， his nerves had beenshaken so much that he was trembling like a leaf. Once moreMequillen had to summon all his energies together in the taskof bringing his companions round， and as he moved aboutfrom one to the other his quick ear heard the never-ceasingrattle of the rain， which was heavier than any tropical rain thatever fell. And presently he caught the sound of newly formingcascades and waterfalls， cutting new ways from the hilltopsto the level lands of the valleys. Now the normal coolness ofmiddle winter was coming back. The women picked up thewraps they had dirown aside； the men hurried into greatcoats.
And as the February dawn came grey and slow across the hills，Mequillen and Cockerlyne went up to the observatory， and intothe little look-out turret from which they had seen the spiralsof smoke and flame rising from the land only a few hoursbefore.
The rain was still falling， but with no more violence than thatof a tropical rainstorm. But the air was throbbing， pulsating，humming with the noise of falling waters. A hundred yardsaway from the house a churning and seething mass of yellowfoam was tearing a path， wide and deep， through a copse ofyoung pine； down in the valley immediately beneath them lay anewly formed lake. In the valleys on every side， as far as the eyecould reach， lay patches of silvery hue， which they knew to begreat sheets of water； and now the air was cool， and the hithertotortured lungs could breathe it in comfort.
“Mequillen，” said Cockerlyne， after a long silence， “whathappened？”
But Mequillen shook his head.
“I am as a child standing at the edge of a great ocean，” heanswered. “I cannot say definitely. I think that the great starwhich we saw， rushing upon us， was suddenly arrested， splitinto fragments， when that darkness fell， and that we weresaved. Once more， Cockerlyne， the old world， a speck in space，will move on. For look there！”
And Cockerlyne turned as Mequillen pointed， and saw，slowly rising over the Surrey hills， the kindly sun of a greyFebruary morning.