instant to become more heavy, as she still clung almost unconsciously to the friar's arm, and gasped feebly for breath.
"Oh! what will I do? what will I do?" repeated the poor father, looking eagerly around for aid: all however was dark, and gloomy and silent as the grave. Suddenly, however, a bright meteor-like substance appeared at the edge of the horizon, and the friar, to his unspeakable transport, discovered it to be a patent night fire-stage balloon. He hailed it, and in a few moments it was hovering over their heads; the accommodation ladder was let down, and Clara and her companion having ascended to the car, the balloon again rapidly sailed along.
"Where are we going?" asked Clara faintly.
"Och!" returned the friar, "and that's what I never thought of asking, darling; but Heaven be praised that ye are so much better as to be able to bother yourself about it."
"We are going to Kensington, miss," said the balloon conductor.
"Kensington!" repeated Clara, clapping her hands together in transport—"thank God!"
