london was holding out doggedly and stolidly. scores of houses watched and waited for missing ones who would never return, the streets and the river had taken their toll, in open spaces, in the parks, and on the heaths many were shrouded. but the long black night held its secret well. there had been some ruffianism and plundering at first. but what was the use of plunder to the thief who could not dispose of his booty, who could not exchange a rare diamond for so much as a mouthful of bread? some of them could not even find their way home, they had to remain in the streets where there was the dread of the lifting blanket and the certainty of punishment with the coming of the day.

but if certain houses mourned the loss of inmates, some had more than their share. belated women, frightened business girls, caught in the fog had sought the first haven at hand, and there they were free to remain. there were sempstresses in mayfair, and delicately-nurtured ladies in obscure bloomsbury boarding-houses. class distinction seemed to be remote as the middle ages.

scotland yard, the local authorities, and the county council had worked splendidly together. provisions were short, though a good deal of bread and milk had with greatest difficulty been imported from outside the radius of the scourge. still the poor were suffering acutely, and the cries of frightened children were heard in every street. a few days more and the stoutest nerves must give way. nobody could face such a blackness and retain their senses for long. london was a city of the blind. sleep was the only panacea for the creeping madness.

there were few deeds of violence done. the most courageous, the most bloodthirsty man grew mild and gentle before the scourge. desperate men prowled about in search of food, but they wanted nothing else. certainly they would not have attempted violence to get it.

alarmists predicted that in a few hours life in london would be impossible. for once they had reason on their side. every hour the air, or what passed for air, grew more poisonous. men fancied a city with six million corpses!

the calamity would kill big cities altogether. no great mass of people would ever dare to congregate together again where manufacturers made a hideous atmosphere overhead. it would be a great check upon the race for gold. there was much justification for this morbid condition of public feeling.

so the third long weary day dragged to an end, and people went to bed in the old mechanical fashion hoping for better signs in the morning. how many weary years since they had last seen the sunshine, colour, anything?

there was a change from the black monotony some time after dawn. most people had nearly lost all sense of time when dawn ought to have been. people were struggling back to their senses again, trying to pierce the thick curtain that held everything in bondage. doors were opened and restless ones passed into the street.

suddenly there was a smiting shock from somewhere, a deafening splitting roar in the ears, and central london shivered. it was as if some mighty explosion had taken place in space, and as if the same concussion had been followed by a severe shock of earthquake.

huge buildings shook and trembled, furniture was overturned, and from every house came the smash of glass. was this merely a fog or some thick curtain that veiled the approaching dissolution of the world? people stood still, trembling and wondering. and before the question was answered, a strange thing, a modern miracle happened. a great arc of the blackness peeled off and stripped the daylight bare before their startled eyes.