I do not know how long all this lasted. It grew worse and worse.
Sometimes a flood of rain fell, and then would come a storm of lightning,
and a downpour of gigantic hailstones that rattled upon the steel shell
of the car like a rain of bullets from a battery of machine guns. Half
the time one window or the other was submerged by the waves, and when we
got an opportunity to glance out, we saw nothing but torn streamers of
cloud whipping the face of the waters. But when the change came at last,
it was as sudden as the dropping of a curtain. The clouds broke away, a
soft light filled the atmosphere, the waves ceased to break and rolled in
long undulations, and a marvelous dome appeared overhead.

That dome, at its first dramatic appearance, was one of the most
astonishing things that we saw in the whole course of our adventures. It
was not a cerulean vault like that which covers the earth in halcyon
weather, but an indescribably soft, pinkish-gray concavity that seemed
nearer than the sky and yet farther than the clouds. Here and there, far
beneath it, but still at a vast elevation, floated delicate gauzy
curtains, tinted like sheets of mother-of-pearl. The sun was no longer
visible, but the air was filled with a delicious luminousness, which
bathed the eyes as if it had been an ethereal liquid.

Below each window was a steel ledge, broad enough to stand on, with
convenient hold-fasts for the hands. These had evidently been prepared
for some such contingency, and Edmund, throwing open the windows, invited
us to go outside. We gladly accepted the invitation, and all, except
Juba, issued into the open air. The temperature was that of an early
spring day, and the air was splendidly fresh and stimulating. The rolling
of the car had now nearly ceased, and we had no difficulty in maintaining
our positions. For a long while we admired, and talked of, the great dome