e. Toward evening on the third day Eagle, with
his head and one hand still in bandages, was limping about the field
where the _Golden Eagle_ had been repaired; and when he came back it was
to say that he thought he might get off at midnight with dispatches for
the king in Brussels. He calmly announced this intention to me as I
handed him an innocent cup of broth, better suited to a confirmed
invalid than to a recovered aeronaut. But he quietly accepted the cup;
and I saw by the look in his eyes that I was to expect the first real
talk we had had together.

"What about your going with me, Peggy?" he asked, as simply as if he
were proposing a short pleasure jaunt in a motor car. "You know, I
wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think it honestly the safest thing for
you. With luck we can make the trip in less than an hour, by air. Heaven
knows how long it would take you by earth; and there's no one here,
anyhow, to help smuggle you away if I go and leave you behind. I can't
bear to do it! Besides, from Brussels, there's a good chance of your
getting out with refugees, if you don't wait too long. And you can do as
much good work in London as in Liege. What do you say?"

I wished that it might take us many hours to get to Brussels instead of
less than one. But I didn't put the wish into words. I said only, yes, I
would go; and many thanks.

"Good! That's settled then," said he.

"I must tell our matron," I hesitated. "I _hope_ she won't think me a
coward!"

Eagle smiled almost as he used to smile ages ago in London, when first
we were friends, and he still thought of me as a "little girl." "Few
people would call it a cowardly act for a young woman to fly out of a
beleaguered town in a battered aeroplane with a battered airman, and I
don't think your matron will be one of them. She'll thank you for what
you've done here, and bid you God-speed. But don't go yet to tell her. I
have some things to say to you. You'll be my passenger and 'observer'
when I start to-night, but we'll have no chance to talk; and in these
times we must face the fact that we may never have another chance this
side of heaven."

The words went through me like a bayonet, for I knew too well how deadly
true they were. I didn't try to contradict him, or talk about "hoping
for the best"; for prattle of that sort seemed too futile. I only said,
"Let's take this chance, then. I've plenty of time--hours yet. Stretch
yourself out in the _chaise longue_ and res