THE SAME (LATER).

I had hardly finished writing when the lookout on the tower announced that the Teuta, as Rupert calls his aeroplane, was sighted crossing the mountains from Plazac.  I hurried up to see him arrive, for I had not as yet seen him on his “aero.”  Mr. Ernest Melton came up, too.  Teuta was, of course, before any of us.  She seems to know by instinct when Rupert is coming.

It was certainly a wonderful sight to see the little aeroplane, with outspread wings like a bird in flight, come sailing high over the mountains.  There was a head-wind, and they were beating against it; otherwise we should not have had time to get to the tower before the arrival.

When once the “aero” had begun to drop on the near side of the mountains, however, and had got a measure of shelter from them, her pace was extraordinary.  We could not tell, of course, what sort of pace she came at from looking at herself.  But we gathered some idea from the rate at which the mountains and hills seemed to slide away from under her.  When she got over the foot-hills, which are about ten miles away, she came on at a swift glide that seemed to throw the distance behind her.  When quite close, she rose up a little till she was something higher than the Tower, to which she came as straight as an arrow from the bow, and glided to her moorings, stopping dead as Rupert pulled a lever, which seemed to turn a barrier to the wind.  The Voivode sat beside Rupert, but I must say that he seemed to hold on to the bar in front of him even more firmly than Rupert held to his steering-gear.

When they had alighted, Rupert greeted his cousin with the utmost kindness, and bade him welcome to Vissarion.

“I see,” he said, “you have met Teuta.  Now you may congratulate me, if you wish.”

Mr. Melton made a long rodomontade about her beauty, but presently, stumbling about in his speech, said something regarding it being unlucky to appear in grave-clothes.  Rupert laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder as he answered:

“That pattern of frock is likely to become a national dress for loyal women of the Blue Mountains.  When you know something of what that dress means to us all at present you will understand.  In the meantime, take it that there is not a soul in the nation that does not love it and honour her for wearing it.”  To which the cad replied:

“Oh, indeed!  I thought it was some preparation for a fancy-dress ball.”  Rupert’s comment on this ill-natured speech was (for him) quite grumpily given:

“I should not advise you to think such things whilst you are in this part of the world, Ernest.  They bury men here for much less.”

The cad seemed struck with something—either what Rupert had said or his manner of saying it—for he was silent for several seconds before he spoke.

“I’m very tired with that long journey, Rupert.  Would you and Mrs. Sent Leger mind if I go to my own room and turn in?  My man can ask for a cup of tea and a sandwich for me.”