Towards morning, Belfast gave up in despair and went to take a sleep; but no sleep for Marston.

Though he was now quite alone, the assistants having also retired, he kept on talking incessantly to himself, expressing the most unbounded confidence in the safety of his friends, and the absolute certainty of their return.

It was not until some hours after the Sun had risen and the Moon had disappeared behind the snowy peaks of the west, that he at last withdrew his weary eye from the glass through which every image formed by the great reflector was to be viewed.

The countenance he turned on Belfast, who had now come back, was rueful in the extreme.

It was the image of grief and despair.
"Did you see nothing whatever during the night, Professor ?" he asked of Belfast, though he knew very well the answer he was to get.
"Nothing whatever." "But you saw them once, didn't you ?" "Them! Who ?" "Our friends." "Oh! the Projectile--well--I think I must have made some oversight." "Don't say that! Did not Mr.M'Connell see it also ?" "No.