“He is very severely wounded, Miss Gaselee,” he said, “but there is still a spark of life left—a very meagre spark. By careful attention and nursing he may possibly pull through. He is not yet conscious, but we will put him to bed, and I will remain and see what I can do. We can only hope.”
Beryl, thankful that Ronnie still lived, quickly bestirred herself for his comfort, and it was not long before the senseless man was carried up to his own room, where the doctor remained watching him for many hours.
Days passed—days of breathless and terrible anxiety—during which the doctor forbade Beryl to see the wounded man. In the papers there had been published accounts of the enormous damage done to the enemy submarine base at Zeebrugge by a “British aeroplane,” but the name of the intrepid aviator was not given. Only the authorities and those at Harbury Court knew the truth. The authorities preserved a wise reticence, for the publication of facts is not always in the interests of the country.
Ronnie’s wounds proved far more serious than were at first believed, and even the specialist who came down from Harley Street was not at all hopeful of his recovery. Nevertheless, the fine physique of the patient proved in his favour, and a fortnight later Beryl was allowed to see him for the first time.
From that moment Beryl became his nurse, and slowly he recovered; slowly, because both his right arm and his right leg had been so injured that they would be entirely useless in future, and he could never fly again.
Only the thought of his invention, and the great advantage it would give to our aviators for night-flying in the future, comforted him, when at last he was able to be wheeled about in his chair by Beryl.
And was it surprising that when, three months later, the pair were married in the old, ivy-clad, church, half-a-mile from Harbury Court, the illustrated papers published a pathetic picture of the bridal couple emerging from the porch, the bridegroom on crutches, and described it as “a romantic war-wedding”?
THE END.