y flinch of
the nerves as the heat burned through the thick mittens I wore and
scorched my fingers, but I didn't scream, I'm glad to say, or let go the
spanner. I screwed and screwed at the union, with the nasty smell of
burnt wool, and perhaps flesh, in my nostrils. Then there came the
glorious sensation of success as the song of the motor took up its old
refrain again. No more choking and spluttering, and it was I who had
cured it.

I gave a little sob of thanksgiving, because I hadn't failed; and a
voice seemed to whisper far, far down under the renewed song of the
engine, "What if this is a prophecy? What if, after Diana has left him
in the lurch, it should be given to _you_ to atone--to help or save him
in some danger?"

The little voice was so strong, so clear, that I thrilled all over. What
it said seemed to become part of an experience which I could never
forget.

CHAPTER V

In the remaining six weeks of his leave, Eagle March made himself very
popular in England. He secured a record for altitude, and flew upside
down longer than any one else had at that time, two years ago, which is
a whole age in the aeroplane world. He did other quaint tricks, too,
that nobody had thought of or accomplished then, such as walking on a
wing of the monoplane when she was in the air; and all the prettiest and
smartest women in London were proud to meet him. He was invited
everywhere, and people who pretended to know said that peeresses,
married and unmarried, made violent love to Captain March. Naturally a
girl like Di was enchanted to lead him about, tied to what would have
been her apron strings if she'd been frumpish enough to wear such
things. When it began to be said that Eagle March found excuses not to
accept invitations unless Lord Ballyconal and Lady Di O'Malley might be
expected to turn up, Father and Diana were asked by a great many
hostesses who wouldn't have thought of them except as bait. Di realized
this, even if Father were too proud or too conceited to do so, and she
used Eagle in every way, for all he was worth. She liked him, too,
better than she'd ever liked any man, perhaps, except her first
love--the handsomest Irish boy you ever saw, whom she couldn't think of
marrying because he'd no family and no money. But she was only seventeen
then and Jerry Taylor was a mere subaltern. He died in India of enteric
when Di was eighteen; and before Captain March came on the scene she had
liked and flirted w