LOVE AT WAR
Without a pang—without the first compunction of conscience—Belinda had shown the wounded aviator her heart. Nor had he accepted the revelation with any question.
This was no time for qualm or quibble. They had come to a vital grip with a horrid and scarcely-to-be-averted peril.
Sanderson flung to the winds the caution and hesitancy that had marked his attitude in the first of his intercourse with Belinda. Now he even ignored his brother Jim's advice.
Upon Belinda's part there was no question as to whether the aviator was deserving or not. She loved him. Therefore she must save him.
"How can we get word to this Renaud?" the nurse asked softly, her glowing eyes devouring the face of the aviator.
"Oh, Belinda! how lovely you are!" he whispered. Then: "Isn't there a faithful Frenchman left about the place? Were you alone of all the old corps of attachés abandoned when the Germans advanced?"
"My little infirmier would not desert me. They have made a cook of him—these Germans."
"The man with the lame foot and the harelip?"
"Erard. Yes."