Her eyes sparkled with the boldness of the plan--its peril, its possibilities. But Allan only shook his head.
“And expose the Pauillac on the beach?” he asked. “One good swing with a war-club into the motor and then a week's siege and slow starvation, with a final rush--interesting, but not practical, little girl. No, no; the better part of valor is to recognize force majeure and wait! Remember what we've said already? ‘Je recule pour mieux sauter?’ Wait till we get a fresh start on these hell-hounds; we'll jump 'em far enough!”
The bungalow now lay behind. The whole clearing seemed alive with the little blue demons, like vermin crawling everywhere. Thicker and thicker now the smoke was pouring upward. The scene was one of utter desolation.
Then suddenly it faded. The plane had borne its riders onward and away from the range of vision. Again only dense forest lay below, while to eastward sparkled the broad reach where, in the first days of their happiness at Hope Villa, the girl and Allan had fished and bathed.
Her tears were unrestrained at last; but Allan, steadying the wheel with one hand, drew an arm about her and kissed and comforted her.
“There, there, little girl! The world's not ended yet, even if they have burned up our home-made mission furniture! Come, Beatrice, no tears--we've other things to think of now!”
“Where away, since our home's gone?” she queried pitifully.
“Where away? Why, Storm King, of course! And the cathedral and the records, and--and--”
CHAPTER IV
“TO-MORROW IS OUR WEDDING-DAY”
Purple and gold the light of that dying day still glowed across the western sky when the stanch old Pauillac, heated yet throbbing with power, skimmed the last league and swung the last great bend of the river that hid old Storm King from the wanderers' eager sight.