"The Germans had mined it. They are destroying everything as they retreat," Sanderson said. "Ah, but this Northern France will be a barren waste for years to come!"
Belinda clung to him in horror and alarm. "That unfortunate man—the Herr Doktor?" she questioned. "Do you suppose they found him—that he was removed? Even Carl did not seem to see him lying there."
"There were still soldiers searching the château as we escaped with your cousin's aid," Frank declared. "A man of Doctor Herschall's attainments and importance could not be overlooked. But, poor chap, I wonder if he would not rather be blown up with that castle than be brought back to life, blind and lacking that clever hand of his."
"One of his own 'surgical triumphs,'" shuddered the nurse. "Ah, Frank! it is more than fate. There is the hand of God in it. Doctor Herschall never used his wonderful eyes and hands to the glory of the Giver, but for his own sole aggrandizement. But I would not have had him die that way."
"Nor anybody else," added the aviator solemnly. "It touches us nearly, dear girl. See! We might have gone skyward with that wreck," he went on more lightly.
"Whereas," said Belinda, with a tremulous smile, "you intend taking me skyward in an aeroplane. I—I——Suppose we should fall, Frank?"
He put his arm about her tenderly to help her over a rough place in the road.
"At least we shall fall together," he responded. "Do not fear."
"Yes, let us go on," Belinda breathed. "We have each other—and nothing else matters."
"You are right. I have you and you have me. Nobody can part us——"