She sighed.

"I have no wish to go!" she said.

"You must!" The Voice became commanding. "If you stay now, you and your companions are doomed to perish. There is no alternative. Be satisfied that we know you--we watch you--we shall expect you sooner or later. Meanwhile--guide your ship!--the way is open."

Quickly she sprang to the steering-gear--she felt the "White Eagle" moving, and lifting its vast wings for flight.

"Farewell!" she cried, with a sense of tears in her throat--"Farewell!"

"Not farewell!" came the reply, spoken softly and with tenderness--"We shall meet again soon! I will speak to you in Sicily!"

"In Sicily!" she exclaimed, joyfully--"You will speak to me there?"

"There and everywhere!" answered the Voice--"The Sound Ray knows no distance. I shall speak--and you shall hear--whenever you will!"

The last syllables died away like faintly sung music--and in a few more seconds the great air-ship was sailing steadily in a level line and at a swift pace onward,--the last shining glimpse of the mysterious City vanished, and the "White Eagle" soared over a sable blackness of empty desert, through a dark space besprinkled with stars. Filled with a new sense of power and gladness, Morgana held the vessel in the guidance of her slight but strong hands, and it had flown many miles before the Marchese Rivardi sprang up suddenly from where he had lain lost in unconsciousness and stared around him amazed and confused.

"A thousand pardons, Madama!" he stammered--"I shall never forgive myself! I have been asleep!"




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