THE YELLOW DOVE
“Silly! You fainted, Cyril.”
“Rotten time to faint.”
“You might have died up there. Once I thought you had died. Oh, that dreadful moment! I wanted to go, too—with you. I was a little mad, I think. I wanted to take you in my arms and go with you—down—down. My hands even left the wheel. The Yellow Dove toppled—but I caught her.”
“Poor child!”
“After that I seemed to grow all cold with reason and skill. I forgot you. I looked beyond, over your poor head. I had to succeed, Cyril—that was all.”
His hand pressed hers tenderly.
“You’re the only girl in the world who could do it. I’m glad—proud
” He broke off. “My word, Doris! There’s no use tryin’ to tell you what I think of you. I’m no good at that sort of thing.”“I understand. You’re just—yourself. That’s enough for me.”
“You were a trump up there in the Thorwald—to stay with poor old Udo, but I had to go. It was the only way. I never thought we’d make it.”
“But we did.”
“You did. It was the Dove, Doris—the good old Dove. Isn’t she a ripper?”
“I never had a fear—once she rose. How did you happen
”He laughed.
“It was to be a surprise. I’d been workin’ on her for a year—tryin’ her out on the moors. Nobody knew—until the war came—and then I told Udo, who told von Stromberg. I tried a flight to Windenberg and made it comfortably. Awf’ly easy thing. I stayed at
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