His eyes flamed, and he pointed a lean finger in the direction of Weybridge.

By this time I was beginning to take his measure. The tremendous tragedy in which he had been involved⁠—it was evident he was a fugitive from Weybridge⁠—had driven him to the very verge of his reason.

“Are we far from Sunbury?” I said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“What are we to do?” he asked. “Are these creatures everywhere? Has the Earth been given over to them?”

“Are we far from Sunbury?”

“Only this morning I officiated at early celebration⁠—”

“Things have changed,” I said, quietly. “You must keep your head. There is still hope.”

“Hope!”

“Yes. Plentiful hope⁠—for all this destruction!”