Has the reader ever pictured to himself what, at the time of the Reign of Terror, must have been the emotions of some noble victim borne towards the fatal guillotine? Imagine the sensations of some nobleman, fostered in the lap of luxury, accustomed to every indulgence, full of the pride of birth, when the rolling death-cart brings him suddenly in view of the horrible engine of destruction, and the dense crowd of eager spectators assembled to witness his cruel end! A sense of personal dignity struggles with that of mortal fear. He must not show the inward agony that chills his shuddering frame; he must be firm and calm before the gaze of those thousand curious eyes; and yet the horror of that hour almost overcomes his self-command, and he fears that his resolution may give way in the fiery trial!

He who can realize to himself this picture, will be able to enter into the sensations of the unhappy earl, when from his carriage window he first beheld the huge globe, towering high above the surrounding crowd, and heard the sound of the cheers which greeted his own tardy appearance on the spot. The vain hopes which he had clung to vanished in a moment from his mind. Mr. Verdon had not disappointed his friend,—no accident had marred the balloon in its transit to Augustine’s house; no, there it was ready, quivering as if with eager joy to welcome its victim! How Dashleigh would have blessed any mischievous urchin who should, by fire or steel, have clipped for ever the wings of the Eaglet!

Let it not be supposed, however, that the Earl of Dashleigh was a coward. The testimony borne by Augustine Aumerle had been simply just. As a soldier the earl would have done his duty, and earned an honourable name; he would not have blenched on a field of battle, and if wounded, would have endured in silence the anguish caused by the probe or the knife. But his physical constitution was such that he could hardly look down from the height of an ordinary wall without a giddy sensation. His head seemed to turn round on the brink of a chasm, and the horror of falling down a precipice haunted him even in his dreams! It was not to be wondered at that to such a man the idea of gazing down thousands of feet from the clouds was fraught with unutterable terror; and the earl looked so ill when Augustine Aumerle came forth from the door to meet him, that his friend involuntarily exclaimed, “Dashleigh! you are not fit to ascend!”

“I must, I must,” was the muttered reply, as with an ice-cold hand the earl returned the grasp of his host.

“Come first into the house and refresh yourself; I am certain that you are not well;” and so saying, Augustine led the way into a room where a cold collation had been spread out for his guests.

The earl walked up to the table, poured out a quantity of wine into a tumbler, and took it off at a draught. Augustine feared that there might be some risk that his friend would dull his intellect in the hope of strengthening his nerves.

The two then proceeded, as we have seen, through the garden into the meadow. The earl acknowledged the salutations of his acquaintance by stiffly bending his head, but never uttered a word.

“Will you go back?” whispered Augustine, who began to feel uneasy as to the result of the experiment before him.

The earl hesitated for an instant, only an instant; he caught sight of Dr. Bardon, watching him with a sarcastic smile on his face, which stung the proud noble like a scorpion; pushing forward with a determined effort, Reginald sprung into the car in which Mabel, with girlish impatience, had already taken her place.

“Now we only want Verdon,” observed Augustine, more leisurely following his companion; “he is busy giving last orders, but he will be with us in a minute.”

“And then, skyward ho!” exclaimed Mabel, whose heart beat high with excitement and pleasure, which was only heightened by a slight touch of feminine fear.

Whether it were the effect of her words, or of the somewhat rocking motion given to the car, even while resting on the grass, by the swaying of the huge ball above it,—or whether the wine too hastily taken had risen into the brain of the earl, was a point never clearly decided; but at this moment the nervousness of Dashleigh suddenly rose to a pitch which entirely mastered his judgment. Rising from his seat with an agitated air, he attempted to push past Augustine, in order to get out of the car. His friend, extremely annoyed at the thought of so public an exhibition of weakness, laid his hand on the arm of the earl; but this slight action seemed only to rouse the miserable man to frenzy.

“Let go!” exclaimed Dashleigh, in a voice so loud that it resounded to the utmost edges of the crowd; “Let go!” echoed a thousand voices, believing it to be the signal for ascent! The men who were grasping the ropes instantly obeyed the word, and almost with the sudden effect of an explosion, the immense balloon darted upwards to the sky, shrinking before the upturned eyes of the breathless spectators, till its vast globe gradually dwindled to the apparent size of the plaything of a child!

There were deafening cheers from the crowd beyond the hedge; “Bravo! bravo! off she goes!” shouted stentorian voices; but on the faces of the nearest spectators were painted fear and dismay, as Mr. Verdon—interrupted in the midst of hurried directions by the sudden cry and shout, stretched out his hands wildly towards the receding balloon, and exclaimed in a tone of anguish,—“Merciful Heaven! they are lost!”

“Lost! what do you mean, man?” exclaimed Bardon, coming forward in his blunt manner to give a voice to the fears of the rest. “And how does it happen that you are not in the car?”

“The signal was given too soon!” cried Verdon, his nervous accents betraying his emotion. “I was just questioning my assistant as to the working of the valve, for I thought that something seemed wrong with the rope, when a voice shouted out, ‘Let go!’ and the idiots took that for the signal.”

“But you do not apprehend danger?” cried a gentleman near.

“Danger!” repeated Verdon impatiently; “why, Aumerle knows no more of the management of a balloon than a child;—Heaven only knows if we shall ever look on their faces again!”

Terror, wonder, compassion, now spread rapidly through the assembled throng; lip after lip repeating the tale with its own comments and exaggerations. Exclamations of pity and grief resounded on all sides, as straining eyes attempted to pierce the cloud which soon hid the Eaglet from view. Once it was visible for a few minutes, and little dim specks could be distinguished in the car, which were known to be the living human beings who had so lately been standing in health and strength on that very spot! It was a sickening reflection that they were now utterly beyond reach of man’s aid, drifting away at the mercy of the winds, perhaps to some terrible fate which might be guessed at, but never known. None, perhaps, felt the revulsion more terribly than Timon Bardon. He who had exulted in revenge, found the cup which he had grasped so eagerly, and deemed so sweet, suddenly changed to a burning poison. His fierce, strong nature made his sense of suffering peculiarly acute. “How shall I tell this to Annabella?” was the distracting thought uppermost in his mind, as throwing himself on a horse which had been lent to him for the occasion, he dashed wildly along the road which led to his little home.