“His idea was to begin with those broad truths that must underlie all conceivable mental existences and establish a basis on those.  The great principles of geometry, to begin with.  He proposed to take some leading proposition of Euclid’s, and show by construction that its truth was known to us, to demonstrate, for example, that the angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal, and that if the equal sides be produced the angles on the other side of the base are equal also, or that the square on the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal to the sum of the squares on the two other sides.  By demonstrating our knowledge of these things we should demonstrate our possession of a reasonable intelligence....  Now, suppose I ...  I might draw the geometrical figure with a wet finger, or even trace it in the air....”

He fell silent.  I sat meditating his words.  For a time his wild hope of communication, of interpretation, with these weird beings held me.  Then that angry despair that was a part of my exhaustion and physical misery resumed its sway.  I perceived with a sudden novel vividness the extraordinary folly of everything I had ever done.  “Ass!” I said; “oh, ass, unutterable ass....  I seem to exist only to go about doing preposterous things.  Why did we ever leave the thing? ...  Hopping about looking for patents and concessions in the craters of the moon!...  If only we had had the sense to fasten a handkerchief to a stick to show where we had left the sphere!”

I subsided, fuming.

“It is clear,” meditated Cavor, “they are intelligent.  One can hypothecate certain things.  As they have not killed us at once, they must have ideas of mercy.  Mercy! at any rate of restraint.  Possibly of intercourse.  They may meet us.  And this apartment and the glimpses we had of its guardian.  These fetters!  A high degree of intelligence...”

“I wish to heaven,” cried I, “I’d thought even twice!  Plunge after plunge.  First one fluky start and then another.  It was my confidence in you!  Why didn’t I stick to my play?  That was what I was equal to.  That was my world and the life I was made for.  I could have finished that play.  I’m certain ... it was a good play.  I had the scenario as good as done.  Then....  Conceive it! leaping to the moon!  Practically—­I’ve thrown my life away!  That old woman in the inn near Canterbury had better sense.”

I looked up, and stopped in mid-sentence.  The darkness had given place to that bluish light again.  The door was opening, and several noiseless Selenites were coming into the chamber.  I became quite still, staring at their grotesque faces.