"Yes, we're off," said the priest sedately.

Beneath them, on either side, there now stretched itself an
almost illimitable and amazingly beautiful bird's-eye view of a
lighted city, separated from them by what seemed an immeasurable
gulf. From the enormous height up to which they had soared the
city looked like a complicated flat map, of which the patches
were dark and the dividing lines rivers of soft fire. This
stretched practically to the horizon on all sides; the light
toned down at the edges into a misty luminosity, but as the
bewildered watcher stared in front of him, he saw how directly in
their course there slid toward them two great patches of dark,
divided by a luminous stream in the middle.

"What is it? What is it?" he stammered.

The priest seemed not to notice his agitation; he just passed his
hand quietly into the trembling man's elbow.

"Yes," he said, "there are houses all the way to Brighton now, of
course, and we go straight down the track. We shall take in
passengers at Brighton, I think."

There was a step behind them.

"Good evening, Monsignor," said a voice. "It's a lovely night."

The prelate turned round, covered with confusion, and saw a man
in uniform saluting him deferentially.