“They’ll think we’re going mooning,” she said, jerking her head at the household. “I wonder what they make of us—criminals.” ... An immense droning note came as if in answer to that. It startled us both for a moment. “The dears!” she said. “It’s the gong for dinner!... But I wish I could help little Teddy, George. It’s awful to think of him there with hot eyes, red and dry. And I know—the sight of me makes him feel sore. Things I said, George. If I could have seen, I’d have let him have an omnibusful of Scrymgeours. I cut him up. He’d never thought I meant it before.... I’ll help all I can, anyhow.” I turned at something in her voice, and got a moon light gleam of tears upon her face. “Could _she_ have helped?” she asked abruptly. “_She?_” “That woman.” “My God!” I cried, “_helped!_ Those—things don’t help!” “Tell me again what I ought to do,” she said after a silence. I went over the plans I had made for communicating, and the things I thought she might do. I had given her the address of a solicitor she might put some trust in. “But you must act for yourself,” I insisted. “Roughly,” I said, “it’s a scramble. You must get what you can for us, and follow as you can.” She nodded. She came right up to the pavilion and hovered for a time shyly, and then went away. I found my uncle in my sitting-room in an arm-chair, with his feet upon the fender of the gas stove, which he had lit, and now he was feebly drunken with my whisky, and very weary in body and spirit, and inclined to be cowardly. “I lef’ my drops,” he said. He changed his clothes slowly and unwillingly. I had to bully him, I had almost to shove him to the airship and tuck him up upon its wicker flat. Single-handed I made but a clumsy start; we scraped along the roof of the shed and bent a van of the propeller, and for a time I hung underneath without his offering a hand to help me to clamber up. If it hadn’t been for a sort of anchoring trolley device of Cothope’s, a sort of slip anchor running on a rail, we should never have got clear at all. V The incidents of our flight in Lord Roberts β do not arrange themselves in any consecutive order. To think of that adventure is like dipping haphazard into an album of views. One is reminded first of this and then of that. We were both lying down on a horizontal plate of basketwork; for Lord Roberts β had none of the elegant accommodation of a balloon. I lay forward, and my uncle behind me in such a position that he could see hardly anything of our flight. We were protected from rolling over simply by netting between the steel stays. It was impossible for us to stand up at all; we had either to lie or crawl on all fours over the basket work. Amidships were lockers made of Watson’s Aulite material,—and between these it was that I had put my uncle, wrapped in rugs. I wore sealskin motoring boots and gloves, and a motoring fur coat over my tweeds, and I controlled the engine by Bowden wires and levers forward.