The
consequence of these two forces might possibly be a tangent, line
approaching the edge of the Moon's disc. One thing was certain: the
Projectile had not yet commenced to fall directly towards her surface;
its base, in which its centre of gravity lay, was still turned away
considerably from the perpendicular.
Barbican's countenance soon showed perplexity and even alarm. His
Projectile was proving intractable to the laws of gravitation. The
_unknown_ was opening out dimly before him, the great boundless unknown
of the starry plains. In his pride and confidence as a scientist, he had
flattered himself with having sounded the consequence of every possible
hypothesis regarding the Projectile's ultimate fate: the return to the
Earth; the arrival at the Moon; and the motionless dead stop at the
neutral point. But here, a new and incomprehensible fourth hypothesis,
big with the terrors of the mystic infinite, rose up before his
disturbed mind, like a grim and hollow ghost. After a few seconds,
however, he looked at it straight in the face without wincing. His
companions showed themselves just as firm. Whether it was science that
emboldened Barbican, his phlegmatic stoicism that propped up the
Captain, or his enthusiastic vivacity that cheered the irrepressible
Ardan, I cannot exactly say.
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