Low as the aeroplane was—its bounding wheels had already touched the earth—that slight collision almost threw it over. She ran along the road as fast as she could run to keep pace with the rocketing, creaking machine.
It stopped with a jolt. As is the rule when nearing the ground for a landing the aviator had unhooked his belt, and he was catapulted from his seat. The frightened girl saw him land upon hands and knees on the ground; but luckily that field had been recently plowed.
She started to climb the fence, when the aviator struggled to his feet. He saw her almost at once, and before making any examination of his aeroplane, he stumbled toward her.
He was so bundled in furs and leather, and so masked, that he looked like a being from another planet rather than a man. Although the sun had now begun to burn up the mist, objects were still too indistinct for either to descry clearly the other's features.
"Can Mademoiselle tell me where I have landed?" he asked in a muffled voice. "What town is this yonder?"
She told him the name of the village in a breathless voice that must have sounded strange to him, for he stepped nearer to peer across the fence into her face, and she shrank back, troubled by his scrutiny.
"By jove! Not you, Miss Melnotte?" was his amazed cry.
"Mr. Sanderson! How wonderful! What are you doing here?"
"Scouting. I was up for two hours. Pretty near frozen. Believe me, the temperature is low about six thousand feet up. And I got lost spiraling down. But you, Miss Melnotte?"
He was looking at her so earnestly, with such warmth in his gaze, that Belinda was forced to lower the lashes over her own eyes. She could feel the accelerated pumping of her pulse. The bitter, bitter thoughts she had harbored regarding Frank Sanderson suddenly melted, now that he was with her.