form of life has established itself, the final advent of Man is as certain as the growth of the oak from the acorn. The old circle will swing round once more."
"But the poison?" I asked. "Will that not nip life in the bud?"
"The poison may be a mere stratum or layer in the ether—a mephitic Gulf Stream across that mighty ocean in which we float. Or tolerance may be established, and life accommodate itself to a new condition. The mere fact that with a comparatively small hyper-oxygenation of our blood we can hold out against it is surely a proof in itself that no very great change would be needed to enable animal life to endure it."
The smoking house beyond the trees had burst into flames. We could see the high tongues of fire shooting up into the air.
"It's pretty awful," muttered Lord John, more impressed than I had ever seen him.
"Well, after all, what does it matter?"
