When he returned Mequillen found his sister staring atCockerlyne， and Cockerlyne staring at her， as if they werelooking their last at each other.
“Come， come！” he said， with the best imitation of a laughthat he could raise. “We’re not at that stage yet. Now， then，obey your doctor.”
And he fed them both as if they were children， and presentlyhad the gratification of seeing the colour come back toGockerlyne’s face， and a new light into his eyes. The big mansuddenly rose， and shook his limbs， and smiled grimly. Therewere sandwiches on the table， and he reached over and tookone in each hand， and began to eat voraciously.
“Chuck the nursing， Dan，” he growled. “I’m all right. I saidI’d get it done， and I’ve done it. I’m here！”
Mequillen saw with thankfulness that Cockerlyne wasgoing to be something to stand by. He nodded with assumedcoolness.’
“All right， old chap，” he said. “And—how did you get here？”
Cockerlyne moistened his tongue.
“Fought through it，” he said grimly. “I’ve been thirty hoursat it—thirty hours！”
“Yes？” said Mequillen.
“You know，” continued Cockerlyne， “you know when youtelephoned to me at six last night？ After that I think I wentmad for a while. Then I got out of the office， and somehowgot to the Bank station of the South London—the Tube trainsran now and then. I don’t know how I did it， but I travelledthat way as far as the train ran—Clapham， or somewhere. Andthen—well， I just made along this way. Of course， I knewevery bit of the road. It was like sleep-walking.”
Mequillen nodded， and， picking up a fan， resumed hisoccupation of trying to agitate the air about his sister’s face.
“Well， you’re here， Dick，” he said. “But—London？”
Cockerlyne shivered.
“London is—oh， I don’t know what London is！” heanswered. “I think half the people are dead， and the other halfmad. Once or twice I went out into the streets. One man youmet was on his knees， praying aloud； the next was—oh， I don’tknow！ It seemed that hell was let loose； and yet the churcheswere crammed to the doors. And people were fighting for theliquor in the dram-shops and the public-houses. I—I don’tseem to remember much； perhaps I’m mad myself now. Howlong will it be， Dan？”
“How long will what be？” asked Mequillen.
“The—the end？ I expect this is the end， isn’t it？” saidCockerlyne.
“What else can it be？”
“Don’t talk rot！” said Mequillen sharply. “I thought you’dcome round again. Here， pour some of the stuff out of thatbottle into that glass， and carry it to the housekeeper in thenext room. Pull yourself together， man！”
“Sorry，” said Cockerlyne， and rose to carry out Mequillen’scommands.
“I—I’m light-headed， perhaps. Don’t ask me any more aboutwhat I saw.
It sends me off.”
He went away to the housekeeper， and Mequillen heard himspeaking to her in the dry， croaking tones in which they allspoke. And presently Cockerlyne came hurriedly back， and，standing at the open door， beckoned to him with a shakinghand. Mequillen rose， and shambled across to him， looking aninterrogation.
“Come out to the garden！” whispered Cockerlyne， and ledthe way to the front door. “Listen！” he said. “I caught thesound in there！ Listen！”
Mequillen grasped one of the pillars of the porch andstrained his ears.
And somewhere， so far off that it might have been thousandsof miles away， he heard what he knew to be the coming of amighty wind， and instinctively he tightened his grip on thepillar.
“It’s a cyclone coming， Cockerlyne！” he shouted， thoughall around them was still and quiet. “It’ll sweep all beforeit—house， everything！
Quick—the two women！”
But before either man could turn to the open door the greatfog was swept away before their eyes as if it had been literallysnatched from them by some gigantic hand from heaven， andwhere it had been was a burning and a dazzling light of suchpower that in an instant they were grovelling on the groundbefore it with their eyes pressed instinctively into the crooks oftheir quivering elbows.
III. Out of the Illimitable
Of the two men， Mequillen was the first to comprehend whathad happened， and with his comprehension came coolness andresource. Never had he thought so quickly in his life.
“Dick，” he whispered， “keep your eyes shut tightly， andturn and creep back into the hall. I’m doing the same thing.
You know the little room on the left？ Don’t open your eyesuntil you get in there. Now， then，” he continued， with a gasp，as the two men reached the room and stood upright， “you canopen them here， for the shutters are up. Ah！ And yet， you see，although this room should be quite dark， it’s almost as light asa normal winter morning.”
Cockerlyne stared stupidly about him.
“For God’s sake， Dan， what’s happened？” he exclaimed.
Mequillen was fumbling in a drawer. He brought out twosilk mufflers， and passed one to his friend.
“I have a very good idea as to what’s happened，” he answeredgravely. “And I’ll tell you in a few minutes. But first muffle youreyes—there， You’ll see through two thicknesses of the silk. Nowfor the women. Fortunately， the curtains are closely drawnin both rooms， or I should have feared for their eyesight inthat sudden rush of light—light， Dick， such as this globe hasnever seen before！ Dick， we’ve got to blindfold them， andthen get them into the darkest place in this house. There’s anunderground room—not a cellar—which I’ve sometimes usedfor experiments. We must get them downstairs.”
It was easy to see， in spite of the mufflers， that the light inthe hall was blinding， and in the curtained study as bright ason an open sea on a cloudless day in summer. And Addie waslying on her sofa with her arms crossed over her forehead andeyes， obviously surprised and distressed by the sudden glare.
“Don’t move your arms！” exclaimed Mequillen sharply.
“Keep your eyes shut as tight as you can.”
“What is it？” she asked. “Has the fog gone， and the suncome？”
“The fog has gone， and a sun has come，” replied Mequillen.