when the sleeper wakes-第50部分
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collisions。 He could scarcely realize the thing he had
done。 In every quarter aeroplanes were receding。
They were receding。 They dwindled smaller and
smaller。 They were in flight！
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 but an aeropile lay upon the guides。 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 aeropile 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 headlongdropped
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 himto the south。
He realized with a gleam of wrath how bungling his
flight must be。 Below he saw the Croyden hills。 He
jerked upward and once more he gained on his enemy。
He glanced over his shoulder and his attention was
arrested by a strange thing。 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
duct； 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 the aeropile 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。
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。
he was beaten but London was saved。 London was
saved！
The thought had a quality of utter unreality。 Who
was he？ Why was he holding so tightly with his
hands？ Why could he not leave 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。
End
