“Well， I hope they won’t run into this，” continued Mequillen.
“Ah！ I’ll ring Dick Cockerlyne up， and ask him what theweather’s like in town. And then I’ll ring up the Observatory.”
He went off to the small room in which the telephone wasplaced. His sister followed him， and as they passed closebeneath the cluster of lights in the hall Mequillen saw that thegirl’s face was drawn and pallid. He stopped sharply.
“Why， Addie，” he said； “frightened？”
She laid her hand on his arm， and he felt it trembling.
“Dan，” she whispered. “I’m—I’m horribly frightened！
What—what is this？ You know， there’s never been anythinglike this before—in our time. What’s happened？”
Mequillen laughed， and patted the hand that lay on his arm.
“Come， come， Addie！” he said soothingly. “This isn’t likeyou. I think this fog is uncommon， and I can’t account for it，but I’ve no doubt it can be accounted for. Now， let me ring upCockerlyne. I’ve a notion we shall hear they’ve got a brightmorning there in London.”
The girl shook her head， made as if she would follow him tothe telephone， and then suddenly turned away. In the silence awoman’s shrill scream rang out.
“That’s cook—in hysterics，” said Addie. “I shall have tobe brave for the sake of the servants， Dan. They’re all asfrightened as—as I am.”
Nearly an hour later Mequillen came out of the little room，and called his sister into the study. He closed the door， andbeckoned her into the arc of the electric light.
“This is queer！” he said， in a whisper. “I’ve been talkingto Cockerlyne and to the Observatory. Dick says this fog struckLondon at ten o’clock. It’s just there as it is here， and everything’sat a standstill. Dick hasn’t the remotest notion how he’s goingto get away from the city. But—that’s nothing. Addie， it’s allover Europe.”
The girl made a little inarticulate sound of horror in herthroat， and her face whitened.
“All over Europe， so they say at Greenwich，” continuedMequillen. “From Lisbon to Moscow， and from Inverness toConstantinople！ Land and sea—it’s everywhere. It—well， it’ssomething unexplainable. Such a thing has never been knownbefore. But it’s no use getting frightened， Addie； you mustbe brave. It’s no doubt some natural phenomena that will beaccounted for. And—phew， how very hot this room is！”
The girl went close to her brother， and laid her hand on hisarm.
“Dan，” she said， “it isn’t the room. See， the fire’s very low，and the ventilating fan’s working. It’s the same everywhere.
Come into the garden.”
Mequilleri followed her out of the house， knitting his brows，and snapping his fingers， after his wont when he was puzzled.
For several days the weather had been unusually cold for thetime of year. Released now from the preoccupation of the lastfew hours， he suddenly realised that the day was as hot as aJuly day should be under normal conditions. He turned to anoutdoor thermometer.
“Why—why，” he exclaimed， “it’s over seventy now！
Seventy in February！ Addie， something’s happened to this oldworld of ours. That’s certain. Look there！”
As they watched the mercury rose one， two， three figures.
The brother and sister stared at each other. And Mequillensuddenly dropped his hand with a gesture of helplessness.
“Well，” he said， “there’s nothing to be done but to wait. I—Idon’t understand it.”
They went back into the house together， and into Mequillen’sstudy， only to stand and stare at each other in silence. ThenAddie made a sudden effort at conversation.
“Tell me about the new star， Dan，” she said.
Mequillen started.
“The new star！” he exclaimed. “The new star！ My God， Iwonder if that has anything to do with this？ If—”
The parlourmaid， white and scared， came noiselessly into thecircle of electric light within which the brother and sister werestanding.
“You are wanted at the telephone， sir，” she said.
Mequillen went off. In a few minutes he came back， shakinghis head.
“That was the Observatory，” he said quietly. “This fog， orwhatever it is， is all over the world—over South Africa， Northand South America， India， Australia， anyway. And the heat’sincreasing.”
“And—the reason？” whispered Addie.
Mequillen sat down， and dropped his head in his hands.
“There’s no man can tell the reason，” he answered. “He can’teven make a guess at it. Something’s happened， that’s all. Wemust wait—wait.”
And he took up the letters which had remained unopened onhis desk and began to sort them out and to read them.
“Let us go on with our ordinary routine，” he said. “That willbe best.”
The girl left the room， jangling a bunch of keys. But withinhalf an hour she was back， accompanied by the housekeeper.
“Dan，” she said quietly， “the servants want to go. They think theend of the world’s come， and they want to get to their own homes.”
“How do they propose to reach them？” asked Mequillen.
“They can’t see a yard before them.”
“I told them that， Mr. Mequillen，” said the housekeeper， “butit was of no use. You see， sir， they all live pretty close to here，and they say they can find their way blindfolded. They’d bettergo， sir， or we shall have more hysterics.”
“Give me some money for them， Dan，” said Addie.
Mequillen rose， and， unlocking a drawer， handed a cash-boxto his sister.
“I don’t see what good money can do them if the world’scoming to an end，” he said， with a laugh. “Well， let them dowhat they like.”
When the two women had left him， Mequillen went outsideagain， and looked at the thermometer hanging on the wall.
“My God，” he said， “eighty already！ What can it mean？”
