The English army had, for the time being, occupied the trenches from which they had driven the Germans, and for a moment they were safe. The enemy was moving away towards a distant hill, but a huge rearguard was on the alert.

The commanding officer knew that although a slight advantage had been gained, pursuit would be madness, so, taking advantage of the enemies’ trenches, they decided to await further events.

To Bob, the whole day seemed like a dream. His encounter with the German private was like the memory of some event which had taken place long, long ago. All the same, it was a wonder to him that he was alive and unwounded.

All around him lay men in various positions; some never to rise again; some, even if they recovered, to be mutilated for life. Only now and then did the rearguard of the enemy’s army reveal its whereabouts, but all knew that thousands of men were waiting for any advantage which might be given to them.

The day was fast dying, and whatever little wind there had been had nearly sunk to rest.

“Hello, Nancarrow! you here?”

“Pickford! Great heavens, man, whoever thought of seeing you!”

It was an old school-fellow who spoke to Bob. They had been four years together at Clifton, and Pickford had been on the military side of the school.

When Bob had gone up to Oxford, Pickford had left for Sandhurst. They had last seen each other on what they called their breaking-up row at the school. Both of them had been as wild as March hares, and they with a hundred others had yelled like mad at the thought of their school days being over.

Now they had met on French soil, amidst carnage and the welter of blood, at the close of a day which would ever live in Bob’s memory.

“I heard you had refused to enlist, Nancarrow.”

“Who told you?”

“Trevanion: he said you had shown the white feather over the whole business, and pretended to excuse yourself by religious scruples.”

Bob was silent for a moment; he scarcely knew how to reply.

“I told Trevanion he was altogether mistaken in you,” went on Pickford; “but he gave such details of your refusal, and described in such graphic language what others had said about you, that it seemed impossible for him to be mistaken. Some girl gave you a white feather, didn’t she, at the Public Hall in St. Ia?”

“Did Trevanion tell you that?” and there was anger in Bob’s voice.

“I thought it was scarcely a sportsmanlike thing to do,” said Pickford, noticing the look on Bob’s face; “I told him so, too. We were talking about you only last night.”

“Is Trevanion here, then?”

“Yes: didn’t you know? He has been in the thick of it the whole day. As you know, he is Captain of the Royal West a fine lot of men he has, too.”

“And he thinks I am still in Cornwall?” asked Bob.

“I suppose so. You see it was this way: we were talking about certain swabs of whom we were ashamed, and he mentioned you.”

“Don’t tell him I am here,” said Bob quietly.

“Why?”

“Never mind don’t; I daresay he will find out soon enough.”

“Anyhow,” said Pickford, “he is awfully popular with himself just now; I hear he is certain to be a Major in a few days, and will be Colonel in no time. You know he is engaged?”

“Engaged? To whom?”

“You know her old Tresize’s daughter; Nancy, I think her name is. Of course you know her: Penwennack, her father’s place, is close by St. Ia.”

“And and is he engaged to her?”

“Yes,” replied Pickford.

“Did he tell you so himself?”

“No, not in so many words; but he spoke of her to one of the other men as his fiancee.”

Bob’s heart sank like lead; the worst he had feared had come to pass. This, then, was his reward for his fidelity to his conscience. He could not understand it. He knew Nancy was angry with him angry at what she had called his cowardice, at his refusal to obey the call of his country. But he was sure she loved him: had she not told him so? and now, to become engaged within only a few weeks, to the man she had spoken of, almost with scorn, was simply unbelievable.

For the moment he had become heedless of his surroundings; the fact that thousands of soldiers were crouching in the trenches waiting for any possible advance of the enemy, the groans of men who were wounded and perhaps dying, did not exist to him.

At that moment the issue of battles was less to him than the action of the woman he loved.

“I used to imagine you were gone on her,” went on Pickford; “I suppose it was only a boy-and-girl affair.”

Bob did not reply; he could not discuss the tragedy of his life with his old school-fellow.

“Where is Trevanion now?” he asked presently.

“He must be close by,” was the reply. “I saw him less than an hour ago, when the Germans were beginning to give way. Of course I have always known him to be a fine soldier, but I never knew he had so much of the fighting devil in him. Man, you should have seen his eyes burn red he was just like a wild savage. I think he forgot his duties as an officer and gave himself up to the lust of fighting.”

Pickford had scarcely uttered the words when a man came up to him. “I say, Trevanion’s missing,” he said.

“Trevanion missing? I was telling Nancarrow here that I saw him less than an hour ago.”

“Yes, so did I; but we have had later reports. Sergeant Beel says he saw him fall; I think he was wounded by a bullet. Beel was at that time so hard pressed that he could do nothing for him.”

In spite of himself a feeling of joy shot into Bob’s heart. If Trevanion were wounded, perhaps he then . . . but he would not allow himself to complete the thought which had been born in his mind.

Bob found himself amidst a group of officers. “It is impossible to do anything for him,” he heard one say: “I know where he is, but no man’s life would be worth a pin’s purchase who tried to get at him. The Germans are not more than 500 yards away, and whoever shows himself to them is a dead man. Only a few minutes ago some men were trying to get from one trench to another, and they were just mowed down like grass.”

“But Trevanion may not be killed,” urged another, “and if he is badly wounded it might mean death to him if nothing is done for him. Besides, daylight will be gone in less than an hour, and if he is not got at at once, it will be impossible to find him in the dark.”

“And the man who tries to get at him in the light,” said another, “will find himself full of bullets.”

Bob listened eagerly to every word that was said, and again he could not help rejoicing at what seemed Trevanion’s fate. The fact that he had discussed his, Bob’s, cowardice with fellows with whom he had been at school had roused his anger against him; and when he was told that Trevanion was engaged to Nancy Tresize, a feeling of mad hatred mastered him.

“By God,” said one, “but we cannot leave him out there without trying to get at him! Isn’t there one of us who will make the attempt?”

“It would be a madman’s act,” cried another. “You know they are waiting for us, and, if any one dares to go out in the open, he is a dead man.”

“You say you know where he is now?” said Bob.

“I know where Sergeant Beel said he saw him,” was the reply.

“I should like to speak to Beel,” and Bob’s voice was very quiet as he spoke.

Instantly an order was given, and a few minutes later Sergeant Beel was saluting him.

“You say you saw Captain Trevanion fall?” said Bob.

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you point out the spot?”

“Yes, sir.”

A few minutes later Bob was in possession of all the information which the Sergeant could give.

“Heavens, you are not going, Nancarrow?”

“I’m going to have a try,” was Bob’s reply.

In the few seconds which it took Sergeant Beel to tell his story, Bob had been fighting the greatest battle of his life. It seemed to him as though thousands of devils were pleading with him to let his rival die, and all the time every particle of manhood he possessed was telling him where his duty lay.

If Nancy Tresize had promised Trevanion to be his wife, she must love him, and if she loved him, the death of her lover would be like death to her. Anyhow, it was for him to make the attempt.

He crept from his place of safety, and threw himself flat on the ground, while the others, with whispered exclamations of surprise, watched him.

Keeping his body as close as he could to the ground, he crawled forward. When he had been a boy, he, like thousands of other English boys, had played at fighting Indians, and the old trick of crawling close to the ground served him well now; but it was painfully slow, and every yard he took he expected to hear the whistle of bullets to feel the baptism of fire.

When he had crawled perhaps one hundred yards, a rifle shot rang out, and he heard a bullet cut its way through the leaves of the trees in the near distance. Was it aimed at him? He didn’t know, but he did know that the nearer he went to the enemies’ lines, the greater chance they would have of seeing him.

“Why should I go any further?” he asked himself. “It is a madman’s trick I am playing. No one but an idiot would take such a risk; besides, it is useless I can never reach him. Even if I get to the spot Beel described, I may not find him, and then I shall have simply thrown away my life for nothing.” Then for the first time that day he really felt what fear meant.

Since early morning he had been in the midst of the fray, now directing his soldiers, now fighting hand-to-hand battles, but never once had he felt fear; even when his comrades on his right hand and on his left had fallen, he had not felt even a tremor. His nerves had been wrought up to such a pitch that fear was almost impossible; rather he had known a kind of mad joy in fighting. When in answer to the German charge the English soldiers had rushed forward, bayonets fixed, to meet them, he knew he had become almost a savage in his lust for blood. More than once he had laughed aloud as slowly, amidst cries of pain, savage yells of joy, and feverish passion, they had fought their way, inch by inch, and driven the Germans back; but now he felt fear.

It was one thing to rush forward amidst the clash of arms and the cheers of his comrades; it was another to crawl along like an Indian savage, in the silence of the dying day. And for what purpose? To save a man who, half an hour before, he had wished dead.

But he knew he could not go back. Something, he could not explain what, urged him forward. How could he go back with his purpose unfulfilled? What would the others say? In spite of the fact that he had undertaken what every man of them had said was a madman’s act, they would in their heart of hearts scorn him for having played the coward.

Every muscle in his body ached; his hands were torn and bleeding; it seemed to him as if there were hammers striking his temples; sparks of fire were in his eyes, still he struggled forward.

He lifted his head and looked around. Yes, he was near the spot which Sergeant Beel had described. Daylight was now falling, and half an hour later darkness would be upon them. If his mission were not accomplished whilst the light lasted, the Captain would have to lie until the morning, and if he were wounded, he might during those hours die from loss of blood.

Again there was a crack of rifles, and he heard the whistle of bullets as they passed by him; one of these was not more than a yard away. What the Germans meant, he did not know, neither could he tell whether he had been seen, but he was sure that his life was not worth a pin’s purchase.

He had left his sword behind that was of no use to him now and would be only an encumbrance but he had his revolver ready to hand.

Feverishly he looked around him, but nowhere could he see the man he sought. Still, he had done his duty; he could go back to Pickford and the other fellows and tell them he had done his best and had failed.

But he stayed where he was.

He realised that he was faint and hungry. Since, early that Sunday morning he had scarcely partaken of food; all day long there had been mad fighting and deadly carnage, and in his excitement he had forgotten hunger; now he thought he was going to faint. Then suddenly every nerve became tense again. He saw not more than a dozen yards away a man in German uniform; like lightning his hand flew to his revolver, and he held himself in readiness. Scarcely had he done so, when he heard a groan. The German also evidently heard it, for he quickly made his way towards the spot from which the sound came.

A moment later Bob heard the German give a low laugh as if he were pleased, but the laugh died in its birth; before it was finished, a bullet from Bob’s revolver had pierced his brain. Forgetful of danger, he rushed forward, and saw that he had not been a moment too soon. The German was about to drive his sword into the body of a prostrate man.

“It is he!” cried Bob, in a hoarse whisper; he had found the man he had come to seek. There, partly hidden by a small bush, lay Captain Trevanion, and on his face was a pallor like the pallor of death.

“He is alive,” reflected Bob; “I heard him groan just now.”

He put his ear close to Trevanion’s heart and listened. Yes, he was faintly breathing, but his clothes were saturated with blood.

With trembling hands Bob undid the other’s uniform, and was not long in finding a wound from which oozed his life’s blood. He called to mind all the medical knowledge he had, and set to work to stop the bleeding; in a few minutes had partially succeeded.

But how to get him back to the English lines! That was the question. He did not think Trevanion was in any immediate danger now. All he could do was to wait until the daylight was gone, and then carry the wounded man to a place of safety. But he dared not wait. The wound began bleeding again. Trevanion was a heavy man, almost as heavy as Bob himself, and in carrying him he knew that he must expose himself to the German fire; but that risk must be taken.

He thought he might carry him two or three hundred yards before being shot, and by that time he would be near enough to the English lines to enable those who were watching, to reach them.

Bob could never call clearly to mind any details of the next few minutes. He knew that he was stumbling along in the twilight, bearing a heavy burden knew, too, that bullets whizzed by him; but, heedless of everything, he plodded forward. He had a vague idea, too, that he must be seen; but all thought of danger had gone.

If he were killed, he was killed, and that was all.

Then suddenly cheers reached him. It seemed to him as though a thousand arms were around him, and wild excited cries filled the air. After that he knew no more.

When he came to himself again, he was lying in a tent, and bending over him was a face he had never seen before.

“There, you’ll do now; you’re all right.”

“Who are you?” asked Bob.

“I’m Doctor Grey; but that doesn’t matter. You haven’t a wound or a scratch, my dear chap; you just fainted that was all. How the devil you got through, I don’t know; but there it is, you’re as right as rain.”

“Have I been long here?”

“Not more than five minutes. Heavens, man, it was the maddest thing I ever heard of! Trevanion is in a bad way; whether he’ll pull through or not, I don’t know; but if he does, he’ll owe his life to you. He was slowly bleeding to death, and of course your getting him here didn’t help him. Still, he’s in good hands.”

“He’s alive, then?”

“Oh, yes, he’s alive, and I think he’ll live; still, he’ll have a bad time. Oh, yes, you can get up, if you want; you’re all right. When did you have food last?”

“I don’t think I remember,” said Bob. “It must have been about midday, I think.”

“I thought so. Now drink this. Do you mind seeing the fellows? That’s right; here they come. Now, Pringle oh, yes, and Colonel Sapsworth too no wonder you are proud of your subaltern; there are men who’ve got the Victoria Cross for less.”

Colonel Sapsworth caught Bob’s hand and wrung it without a word.

Bob saw his lips tremble beneath his grey moustache, saw too that his eyes were filled with tears; but Colonel Sapsworth was a man who didn’t talk much. “You’re a plucky young devil,” he said, “but I thought you had it in you. There, there, do you feel better now? By Jove, you’re the talk of the whole division! Yes, Trevanion will do all right at least, I hope so,” and then the Colonel rubbed his eyes.

“That is enough,” said Dr. Grey. “I’m chief in command here; he wants a few hours’ rest, and then he’ll be as right as ever. Meanwhile, let him alone; the young beggar has had a hard day.”