All that was required was to wheel it out into the big grass-field and give the propeller a start.
Roseye and I ate a frugal meal alone. Mulliner, who served it, must have commented inwardly upon our unusual silence. We generally chattered merrily. Truth to tell, my mind was just then too full for words. If the test succeeded, then all would be well, and Great Britain could defy the enemy's Zeppelins. If it failed, I would not only be ruined—for I had borrowed money to reconstruct my machine—but I should know that all my theories had been blown to the winds, and that the enemy's bombastic threats to set London in flames were no idle ones.
Roseye, reading my thoughts, became also pensive. The hour of our great trial was now at hand.
Even as we sat at table we could hear the quick throb of the engines for a few moments, and then they were cut off. Theed was busy getting everything in order.
Darkness had fallen.
There was scarcely a breath of wind; the stars shone brightly in the steely-blue heavens, and the barometer was steadily rising.
'A splendid night for flying!' I declared, and as Roseye stood with me upon the threshold my arm stole lightly around her waist.
'Yes, dear,' was her reply, as she stood gazing away at the surrounding hills silhouetted against the night sky.
The silence was intense. From the distance, far away from the depth of the opposite valley, came the noise of a train on the main line which ran between London and the sea.
