“I fear nothing, Claude, when I am with you,” she replied, raising her big blue eyes to mine. And then my lips met hers in a long, rapturous caress.
In the dim light of the cheap paraffin lamp upon the table I saw that her expression was one of complete trust and devoted affection. How could I doubt her further?
And yet the motive of her absolute refusal to tell me the truth concerning where she had been was veiled in mystery. It was an enigma that had puzzled me to distraction.
“Remember, darling,” I said, “you have never before flown at night. We have no landmarks, and can only guide by the compass. Towns and villages which, in normal times, can be easily identified, are now blotted out by the lighting regulations, and even when we find our church spire, our landing-place here may be difficult to discover.”
“But it will be lighted, and we shall see it,” she said. “If we steer by the compass for Stockhurst, Teddy—hearing our approach—will show us flashes from his lamp.”
“I hope so. He’s had a weary job I expect in that dead-alive place all day,” I laughed.
“No doubt. But by this time he’s active enough,” she replied.
And then we both lit cigarettes, for she was very fond of my own particular brand—one that I had found in the ward-room of one of our battle-cruisers before the war, and had always smoked since.
The cheap American clock upon a side table crept slowly on. Both of us were impatient. We waited still half-past nine, when Theed came in to report that all was in readiness. Would I help to wheel out the machine into the grass-field, he asked.
This I did. The three of us, including Roseye, put out the monoplane into position, pointing eastwards away from the trees, and facing the valley where, in the bright starlight, we saw that a faint grey mist was now rising.