Had she crossed the Belgian line? She had been to Antwerp, to Brussels, and tried to remember what they had looked like on the map. There was water near Antwerp--she remembered that, inland bodies of water which led to the sea. Now she could see beyond the bodies of inland water to a wide expanse of gray beyond the dark--uninterrupted gray--the ocean! She bore to her left until her course was due west. A searchlight flashed upon her for a second and was gone. By the way the contours were changing she knew that her speed was terrific. And slowly but more and more certainly as she neared the sea, a problem presented itself--her goal! Where was it, and how to find it in the dark? Cyril had said that they must land back of Ypres. But where was Ypres? Beyond Ostend and inland--thirty--forty miles. She knew that much from the war maps that she had pored over with her father. But how to find it? She was over the sea now. The Yellow Dove felt a new breeze and the wheel tugged under her hand, but the machine lifted at the touch and wheeled like a gull to speed down the coast. Ostend! The Kursaal! If she could get a sight of it! It was dangerous, but she must go lower--three--two hundred feet from the sea, where she might make out familiar profiles against the sky. The waves rose to meet her, reflecting the starlight, and just below her to the left the surf rolled in lines of white upon the beach. Dunes, dunes interminably, with here and there a collection of huts. A dark shape moved in the water ahead of her, another---- Warships? Destroyers. She wheeled out to sea and flew above them, but before they had time even to get their searchlights ranged upon her, the danger was past. She would win now. The Yellow Dove was invincible. A dark irregular mass ahead of her rose above the monotony of dunes, buildings, and a bulk she seemed to recognize--a round dome iridescent like a soap bubble in the moonlight. The Kursaal! Ostend! She was nearing her destination--the end of the German lines. Friends were near--Belgians, French, and English. Twenty--thirty miles beyond Ostend and then inland somewhere back of Ypres she would find the English. The English lines were thirty or forty miles long, she remembered. It should not be difficult to find them. She must be sure to go far enough--but not too far--not to where the French army joined the British forces. Cyril’s papers must go to the English, to General French himself. He had said so.