menu_book Chapter 8

CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW OF HUNTINGTON JAIL. I knew not to what condition we were doomed, nor could conjecture where would be the place of our captivity, or whence to draw any hope of deliverance. RASALAS CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The voice said, No, not today. Tomorrow, perhaps. I will let you know, sir. Streaks and circles of alternate light and darkness swirled incessantly under Raoul's closed lids.

The light was of a reddish tint. Not today. Not today. The words went on reverberating in his brain, but only as sounds. They had no meaning.

Tomorrow perhaps. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. What was tomorrow? And this sensation in his head, what was it?

Had he always had it? Who was he himself, and where? A feeling as if he were floating upward brought the conviction of water, and drowning. Yes, the crossing of the Gaborah in the midst of a February morning before the battle. His horse must have been swept away, and the river had been in flood the previous day.

But there was no water in his mouth or nostrils. He could breathe. How he could see. He found his eyes open and lay blinking. But he was not seeing what he expected.

Sky, the cork trees, the slope where Mendisabal's army lay. He saw white washed walls with high set windows and beds, rows of beds, mostly empty. It was in a bed that he lay himself. A hospital, then. But where?

Salamanca. He tried to lift his head a little in order to see more, but the pain, now localized at the back, became so acute that he drew a sharp breath and desisted, and involuntarily shut his eyes again. But after a moment he put up a hand to this head and found that something was tied round

it. Was that why it hurt so? He was inclined to think that it was. His mind began to grope backward, and gradually he came to the conclusion that he could not be in Spain, because he remembered coming to England, being at Warnefield, then at Norman

Cross. That was where he was, then. But of recent events at Norman Cross he could recall nothing since a certain supper when Dumont had been so hilarious. Was it possible that he himself had got drunk on that occasion, whenever it was?

But there had been nothing to get drunk on that he could remember. He was beginning to explore his head more carefully when he heard steps approaching him and opened his eyes once more. A lanky, sandy-haired young man came and stood looking down at him and finally took hold of his wrist and felt his pulse.

How does your head feel now? he inquired after a moment. It hurts, answered Cole. Why is that? And if I move it?

There's a very good reason for its hurting, replied the young man. And don't you remember it? Cole incautiously tried to shake his head on the pillow and succeeded only too well. He gave an exclamation. But his mind continued to grope.

Am I still at Norman Cross? he asked, gazing fixedly at his visitor. Yes, in the officer's hospital. Why? Oh, good Lord, you ask why? Because you were attempting to escape last night and got a thundering knock on the head

in doing so. You must possess a remarkably hard skull, or it would have cracked, said the lanky young man in a tone of admiration. Or perhaps I do, agreed Cole unenthusiastically and knit his brows in a fresh effort to remember. Escaping?

Was I alone? I say, ejaculated the young man, have you genuinely forgotten? No, there were two others with you, and so far they've got away. I don't know their names, but they were your roommates at number eight. You're supposed to have got out by the ventilator.

You remember that, surely? No, replied Cole. I remember nothing since supper last night. Oh, if it was last night. Huh, perhaps that is as well, said the young man to himself.

The tone struck, Cole, but he did not inquire into its meaning. Are you the doctor? he next asked. No, only his assistant. My name is Wonklin, but Dr. Walker was here himself a short time ago.

You did not hear him speaking to Captain Hanwell, I suppose, for you seemed to be still unconscious then. They were at the foot of your bed, however. The superintendent himself, what was he doing here? Well, you see, he's he wants to ask you some questions.

Oh, commented Cole wearily. Not much good, is it, if I cannot remember anything? That, of course, is what Dr. Walker said. At least he said that you would not be fit to answer them today, though he did not naturally know that you had lost your memory.

So the superintendent had to go away again. We have the hospital staff, you know, added Mr. Wonklin, smoothing his keraty locks with an air, are not technically under his control. We have our warrants from the sick and hurt board, not from the transport office. Then I hope the sick and hurt board will not allow Captain Hanwell to pester me with questions

about the other two, because I shall tell him nothing. And my headaches finished Cole rather peevishly. Oh, I don't think it is about the other two that he wants to ask you questions, said Mr. Wonklin. And again his tone was so odd that Cole this time was about to ask him what he meant when

a voice from a distant bed was heard summoning the budding surgeon and he hurried off. And in a little, Cole, after vainly beating that blank brain of his and realizing that the worst had happened, an unsuccessful escape, drifted off into a comfortless sleep. When he woke again it seemed by the light to be a good deal later. The pain in his head was much less, but still he could remember nothing of the actual escape.

For but now his mind was invaded by another subject, Miss Forrest's letter, and mingled with thoughts of that came crowding in the often discussed details of that plan of escape which, evidently, they had put into practice last night. Yes, he remembered now the endless debates, the feverish preparations. Well, the other two had been lucky, but he had indeed defeated all Miss Forrest's plans

for his welfare. In France, freedom, his parents, were all as far off as ever. An attendant came with some food, a little meat and potatoes, and placed it on a chair beside him, and Cole realized that he was hungry. He fed himself with some difficulty, though if he moved his head cautiously he no longer

suffered such shoots and stabs of pain. And soon after the plate had been removed he observed an individual whom he judged to be the surgeon himself walk down the ward and come to his bed. He was about sixty, grey-haired, upright, somewhat severe-looking. He bent over Cole, felt his pulse, looked into his eyes, and then sat down beside him.

I understand that you speak English, Captain de Sabliat. Yes, sir. Oh, is your head still troubling you? Not nearly so much. Very little if I keep still.

I'm glad to hear it. Mr. Von Klin tells me that you can remember nothing since supper last night. No, sir. Have you made the effort? Yes.

But you can recall nothing of the circumstances of your escape? No, sir, nothing. You were found unconscious on the outer side of the wall. How did you come there? I've no recollection.

I remember how we—I—planned to surmount it, but I've no recollection of doing it. Nor of what happened on the other side. The doctor was looking at him very searchingly. No, I suppose I was stunned by a blow. Or did I fall?

You were stunned by a blow from a musket. Eventually. It is a great pity that it did not happen at once. Gaul stared at him in bewilderment. What was this mystery at which Mr. Von Klin, too, had hinted?

Why do you say that, sir? he asked. It would be very kind to tell me exactly what happened on the other side of the wall, for I've not the slightest idea. I dare say you do not believe that, but it is true. As a medical man, Monsieur de Sabliac replied Dr. Walker gravely, I am inclined to believe

that you are speaking the truth. It will, therefore, I am afraid, be all the greater shock to you to learn that you are in danger of having to stand your trial for murder, and, but that you are obviously unfit for it, ought properly to be either in the black hole of this depot or in Huntington jail.

Murder! gasped Gaul, like one suddenly immersed in water. Oh, in God's name, whose murder? Dr. Walker looked at him very keenly before replying. Of the sentinels, he said at length, the sentinel who came up and discovered you.

There was a struggle in which you bayoneted him and were then felled yourself, for that is more probable than that he dealt you the blow first. At any rate, the man is in a most critical state, and if he dies. Oh, but it is impossible, exclaimed Gaul, horror-struck. Oh, I never bayoneted anyone, I swear it, I—

He stopped. Oh, I thought that you did not remember anything, commented Dr. Walker dryly. There was a long silence. Gaul, after staring at him as if he could not remove his gaze, put a hand to his head, and then, with a little sound like a groan, covered his eyes with it.

The colour flared up hot in his face, and then died as suddenly away. Do you think, sir, that I can have done it and have forgotten? he inquired at last, in a strangely submissive voice, visibly very pale now that the hand was removed. To be perfectly frank with you, replied the doctor, leaning back in the chair in a somewhat

judicial manner, I think there are great difficulties in the way of your having done it at all. It is highly improbable that you could have run the sentinel through after a blow from which eight hours' unconsciousness and partial loss of memory have ensued. On the other hand, if you did it before you received the blow, then it is almost equally inconceivable that the unfortunate man can have had sufficient strength to wrest the

musket from you again and to deliver one so heavy. Oh, I know, of course, he went on, that you had two companions, and common sense would point to their having stabbed him and made off. For you must understand that no one witnessed the offray. When the other sentinels, attracted by this man's feeble cries, came up, they found you

both lying there, you quite senseless, and he nearly so. But, unfortunately for you, Captain de Sabliac, the wounded man was able, before lapsing into an unconsciousness from which he may never emerge again, to make a fragmentary statement by which it appears that it is you and not either of your companions whom he charges with deed.

If he recovers sufficiently, this statement can be sifted, but if he dies, I am afraid it will go hard with you. A second silence fell. This was worse than any mere recapture, worse than anything Graoul could have imagined. He gripped his hands together hard under the bedclothes.

What would happen to me? You would have to stand your trial at Huntington Assizes. Killing and forgery, even in the case of military prisoners, come under the civil law. Then, if I were convicted, I should not be shot. No, said Dr. Walker gravely, you would not be shot.

A little involuntary shudder ran over the young officer and he turned his bandaged head away. The doctor bent forward and put a hand on his shoulder. You are not in Huntington Jail yet, he said. Oh, this is not the moment that I should have chosen to break such serious news to a patient,

but I thought it right to let you know how you stand, before Captain Hanwell questions you. I may as well warn you that he is, not unnaturally, extremely incensed, the Brigade Major likewise. So much so, indeed, that I had considerable difficulty in saving you from the black hole, unconscious as you were.

For you are no doubt aware that an officer caught trying to escape is liable to be treated exactly as one of the men. However, I would not have that, nor, I promise you, shall I allow you to be interrogated before I consider you fit for it, and, if possible, not until your memory has returned, which I think may occur at any moment now.

You are much too kind to me, sir, said Cole, moved. If I have done what the man says, and perhaps, in a moment of madness, I may have done it. His voice stuck in his throat. Oh, tot, tot, said Dr. Walker with a little smile. You see, I do not believe you did, not from any acquaintance with your character, but

because I think it is physically impossible. Now, if your companions are recaptured— I am sure they could not have done it, cried Cole, alarmed. They would never have been so foolish. I remember hearing Lieutenant Clegg strongly deprecating violence.

You can remember something on behalf of a friend, can you? remarked Dr. Walker, with a little note of appreciation in his tone. Still, theory and practice are two different things, and, as one of you three must have I think that you personally would be in a better position if they were recaptured, and I should pray for it, if I were you.

A murder. And they said he had done, or attempted, murder. And, for all he knew, they might be right. Alternately panic-struck and unbelieving, Cole spent the rest of that miserable day trying to batter down the closed door of memory.

One or two of the other prisoners in the ward addressed him and condoled with him, but the place was unusually empty, and most of the occupied beds were too far away for conversation, and some of the occupants too ill. The successful escape of Dumont and Claggett afforded general gratification, though it was considered very unfortunate that the sablières had been left to pay the penalty of their

assault on the sentry. For those who had overheard the doctor's opinion shared it, and one patient told Raoul that he had never seen a man who looked less capable of bayoneting anybody than he when he was carried in about midnight. How I thought the dead house was the proper place for you, concluded this observer.

How it must have come back in my sleep, sir, said Raoul with animation. When I woke this morning I found I remembered everything. Oh, everything, queried Dr. Walker, standing beside his bed. It was the following morning. How much does that include?

Oh, not what the authorities think, replied the young man, almost cheerfully. The last thing, but one, that I remember is the flash of a lantern in my face as I was kneeling at the foot of the wall, trying to—well, kneeling there. The last thing of all is a smashing blow on the back of my head before I had time to rise. I must have gone down like a log.

And there it ends, though I dare say Captain Hanwell will not believe me. The surgeon looked down at the bright and candid eyes below the bandage. You will be able to put that to the test very shortly, he said. He is coming up here to interrogate you at half past nine, unless I pronounce you unfit for it.

Oh, please let him come, sir, urged Raoul. I would rather get it over. If I may know two things. How the injured sentinel does, and whether my two companions have been recaptured. Oh, the sentinel is still alive, that is all one can say.

No, your comrades have not been taken so far. And, if you are not, one of them is guilty. Oh, not necessarily, said Raoul stoutly. Another sentinel may have bayoneted the poor man in the darkness, or he may have impaled himself on his own bayonet.

Dr. Walker went away shaking his head, but Raoul had the temerity to submit this last hypothesis to Captain Hanwell when he, with a brigade major, came to interview him about an hour later. He meant it as a real contribution to the problem, but it seemed to be regarded as culpable persiflage, and he could see that it had done him no good in the eyes of the frowning authorities,

particularly in those of the military one. His emphatic denial that he had attacked the sentry, his deseveration that the latter, on the contrary, had put him out of action before he could even think of defending himself, were, as he had half expected, treated as negligible against the testimony of the injured man himself.

And his case was not advanced by his refusal to give not only any information about his escaped comrades' probable whereabouts, which, to do them justice, the inquisitors seemed scarcely to expect, but about his supposed accomplice in the garrison either, as yet apparently undetected in spite of the telltale rope. It was a rather exhausted offender who lay back on the pillows when this ordeal was over.

But the unspeakably blessed relief of knowing that the blood of the unfortunate militia man did not lie at his door had upborne him wonderfully, and he could not believe that, if the latter died, the supreme penalty would really be exacted from an innocent man, even in an enemy's country. So when Wanclin approached him afterwards, his large pale blue eyes full of a somewhat

horrified interest, Raoul observed with a jocularity that was only three parts forced. — How I suppose you feel that you are enjoying the privilege of looking at a condemned criminal, Mr. Wanclin? — If you really did not do it, Dessabliath, you are in a devilish tight hole, responded this Job's comforter with so much of simple awe in his tone that one could not credit

him with malice. — Are you of the opinion, then, that I should be in a more enviable position if I had done it? Wanclin scratched his chin. — No, not exactly.

But if a man's got to swing, it might as well be for something. Who had not thought of that returned Raoul quite gravely. Who in that case, I'd better— Oh, you know, I dare say, went on Wanclin without letting him finish, that about five years ago a prisoner was condemned at the Assizes over a matter like this.

Only it was a turnkey in his case, and he was hanged. Hanged here, too. It was quite an occasion, I believe. All the garrison under arms, all the prisoners made to be present. He was an officer, as well.

Name of Boucher, or something of the sort. — Well, I hope that you will secure a good place when I afford Norman Cross a holiday of that kind, return to Raoul. Though I gather that you will then harbor regret that I had no fun for my money, only a knock on the head.

The good Wanclin looked uncomfortable. — How I don't think you ought to jest about it, de Sabiach. Indeed I don't. — Why? What else is there to do?

demanded Raoul. What, indeed, as he privately asked himself, when the other two, who had coerced him into flight by the plea of their dependence on his knowledge of English, were evidently getting on out there quite well without it, while he was left behind to bear the brunt of their ill usage of the sentry.

Oh, not that Raoul blamed them. The turn of affairs was just the fortune of war, but he could not be blind to its irony. Even if he escaped the dock, he would certainly be punished somehow, and never would he see Wanfield again, however much that kind and generous girl exerted herself on his behalf. And by evening he learned that the sentry, though still alive, had not made any different

deposition about the identity of his assailant. Yes, it was an ironical, though hardly a mirth-provoking situation. Next morning Raoul asked if he might get up, and having received permission to do so for a while in the afternoon, arose and dressed himself with the assistance of a French hospital orderly.

He was obliged, of course, to resume his uniform. Too giddy to walk about, he contented himself with sitting in the stiff chair beside his bed, and observing the ward and its occupants, which he was now in a better position to do. He counted eighteen beds each side, of which only ten were filled. All but two of the patients, moreover, were asleep.

Wanclin was sitting beside one of them, and there was not a sound in the long room save the buzzing of an imprisoned blue bottle. Suddenly the big door of the ward was flung open, and an officer came briskly in, followed by a sergeant, who, however, remained at the door. Raoul tried to stand up, and succeeded for a second, but was obliged to sit down again

on his bed. His head swam so. The officer marched up to Wanclin, now in the middle of the ward. As the prisoner de Sableyac is not to be sent to Huntingdon jail for the present, he may stay here, on account of his condition, he announced.

He is, of course, to be treated strictly as a prisoner, as a dangerous prisoner. Oh, but I can't be responsible for him, Captain," replied Mr. Wanclin rather helplessly. Oh, your task will be made as light as possible, said the officer. A sergeant. The sergeant advanced, pulling from his tunic something that jangled.

The officer made a gesture, and the other wheeled and came down between the beds to Raoul. But Raoul, when he saw the handcuffs, started up and away, until he was stopped by the chair and the wall. Oh, put them on, said the officer sharply, and, coming to the foot of the bed, addressed

Raoul in person. Oh, it is a concession, your being allowed to stay in hospital at all. But if you prefer the black hole, you've only to say so. No, said Raoul faintly, and, overcome by a double nausea, he sat down on the bed again and held out his hands.

A wave of scarlet ran over his colorless face as the manacles clicked into position about his wrists. The officer watched the sergeant lock them, and then, without more words, took himself off again, followed by his subordinate. Raoul sat stupidly on the side of his bed and watched them go.

Then he looked down at his fettered hands. He remained so long in this posture that Wancklin came up and touched him on the shoulder. Oh, lie down on your bed again, he counseled. You'll get used to those things, and though it is a shame to put them on, you'll find that you're not by any means helpless in them.

Raoul raised the same brother's stunned white face and, after a moment, clumsily obeyed him and lay there shivering, not with cold. Wancklin fetched a blanket and spread it over him, and he lay huddled up, his hands clasping each other as though to assure himself that their close proximity was voluntary. The touch of those abhorred irons brought home to him what he was now, no longer a prisoner

of war, but a criminal. He knew that there was a murmur of sympathy and indignation among the awakened occupants of the ward, but it did not help him. He was degraded in his own estimation. That he knew himself innocent did not help him either.

In fact, a cold doubt of his innocence, of the value of his own memory, began to invade him. When Dr. Walker heard the news that evening, he looked grave. Oh, I don't like that done in the hospital, he said, displeased. But I'm afraid that in this case it is the only alternative to the black hole.

Or could I not, asked Raoul with his eyes on the floor. Could I not have them taken off for part of the time, at night, perhaps, if I gave my word not to take advantage of it? I would give you my word of honor, sir. The elder man looked at him half pityingly, half sternly.

Oh, I have no power to accept it, Monsieur de Sablier, and have you a right to expect anyone to take it? Either or no, he were referring to his lost estate as a reputed parole-breaker. Raoul was utterly silenced by this rebuff, and when Dr. Walker had gone away he rolled over and lay with his face hidden in the pillow.

The others, respecting his mood, did not speak to him. His supper was taken away, untouched. He was too sore in spirit to make the first attempt to eat in his shackles before the eyes of the other patients, ludicrous as he felt the spectacle must necessarily be. And as the evening wore on he lay fighting down the mad impulse to try to tear the lengths

apart by main force. It surged over him in waves, and he knew that if he gave way to it he was lost. Yet when, hours later, he had got the better of it and sleep was beginning to come to him, he would move, and the constraint catch his wrists and rouse him afresh to the realization of what he wore.

When he woke in the morning he was lying on his back with his hands crossed on his breast after the fashion of a dead man, as he would really lie, perhaps, after he had made a spectacle like that other officer for Norman Cross. But the morning light had brought a hardening of resolution. He told himself that he had behaved like a child yesterday, like a guilty man it might

be. Whatever was coming on him he would face with more courage than that. He forced himself to eat his breakfast clumsily as he did it, and afterwards, observing to Wanclin that, if he had to go as far as Huntingdon, it was time he learned to walk straight about the ward, rose up and assayed to do so.

He staggered a little at first, but after a few turns found his head much steadier. Subdued congratulations greeted him from the other beds, and he acknowledged them. The doctor, too, when he came, approved of his perambulations. He also told him that the sentry was slightly better. Just before he left he came up to Kaul, now sitting patiently by the side of his bed again,

and asked him whether he would like to do a kind action. And when Kaul looked astonished at the request, said, walking meanwhile with him to a door at the end of the ward, There is a poor young fellow in this little room who will never come out of hospital. I put him in here because it is quiet, but I am afraid that it is sometimes too quiet

for him. He is dying of consumption. Would you like to go in and see him? It pleases him to have visitors, when he is fit for it. Kaul looked down at his wrists, but a visitor in handcuffs.

I've told him about that, said Dr. Walker. Will you tell him also, please, said Kaul very quietly, but looking the surgeon straight in the face, That I am not a broke parole for all that I was sent here as one. Dr. Walker evidently understood very well that this pronouncement was meant for him,

rather than for his patient. He gave a little dry smile. How would it surprise you to hear that that has already been done, Captain de Sabliart? And before Kaul, rather taken aback, could answer, he had opened the door and the visitor went in.

He forgot his fettered hands when he looked at the bed, at the young, virile, but inexpressibly wasted face on the pillow, whose lips gave him a faint and sweet smile like autumn sunshine and spoke in a voice like the whisper of autumn leaves. How kind of you to come. I have books.

Monsieur le docteur is so good to me, but not many visitors. Will you not sit down? I've heard of your misfortune, but I'm sure you— A fit of coughing shook him. He made or seemed to make a motion towards a glass on the table, and Kaul gave it to

him with both hands. How you see how clever you are, Monsieur, resumed the phantom voice. Now, talk to me if you will be so good. About yourself. About friends.

I'm from the Pyrenees. And you? Soon they were deep and converse, and the thin fingers straying over Kaul's irons. You will be free. Yes, you will be free before very long.

But I think I shall be free before you. I'm so much better, and when I'm well enough to travel, I'm going to be exchanged, and the cartel is already made out. And I shall see the mountains again, and the color of the guv that tumbled down them, and there is no water in the world like theirs, and the snows, and the little Templar church

up at Luz where I was born. Yes, I think I shall see them. He was seeing them now, his bright eyes fixed on the bare wall. When Kaul left him, he found tears in his own. That evening, as he sat on the side of his bed trying to nerve himself to another night

of discomfort, Wonklin came up to him with an air of great mystery. How would you like to have those handcuffs off for the night, de Sablier? How would I like the moon, Mr. Wonklin? The young man sat down beside him on the bed and showed in his palm a small rusty key at which Kaul stared uncomprehendingly.

I picked it up months ago, had no idea what it was, don't know why I kept it. I suddenly remembered it this afternoon, and it looked so much like the one the sergeant. Let me see. He bent over Kaul's wrists and inserted the key. It fitted.

But Kaul drew his hands away. No, no, you will get into trouble if I am found with these off, and I might be. Oh, not in the night, oh, come now. A guard might come for me then, or early in the morning, and it might be traced to you. But with a resolution which one would not have expected of him, Mr. Wonklin seized the

prisoner's hands again. The key resisted, turned, and the liberator wrenched one of the handcuffs open. What have you done? said Kaul, half aghast. How diddle the transport office, replied Mr. Wonklin in high glee.

Of course I should be glad if you would give me your word not to, you know. Oh, I swear not to move from this bed. You're a good fellow to trust me, Wonklin. He cautiously stretched out his cramped arms. Oh, my God, it's like heaven.

Oh, what, the other one, too. The bliss of being able to thrust a hand anywhere under the pillow that night without the others having perforce to follow it. How excellent, foolish, good-hearted Wonklin. Kaul fell asleep and dreamt that he was trying to induce that bold spirit to follow him out

of the ventilator in number eight. But when his accomplice came to lock his feathers again next morning, his exhilaration seemed to have evaporated. In fact, he looked distinctly glum. What is the matter?

asked Kaul, discreetly tendering him his wrists under the bedclothes. I hope you've not been getting into trouble over this business already. No, responded Mr. Wonklin. Nobody knows about it. There's nothing the matter.

But Kaul, unconvinced, supposed that he had some private vexation, the more so that, his mission accomplished, Mr. Wonklin hurried away and did not come near him again. Dr. Walker was late in making his rounds that morning and evidently pressed for time when he did appear. But, though he did not visit Kaul, the latter was aware of the rather strange glance which

he cast upon him as he hurried out of the ward. When he was gone, it occurred to the prisoner to wonder very uncomfortably whether the sentry whose condition kept him in such continual uncertainty were worse. The orderlies, being prisoners themselves, would not know. And now Mr. Wonklin, too, had vanished.

Well, if the man died he would hear it soon enough. The sound of coughing coming through the door at the other end of the ward reminded him of Lennepveux, the consumptive, friendly and lonely in there. So he went to pay him a visit and forget his own uneasiness. The dying man looked ghastly this morning, but he was more full of hope and plans than

ever, and talked of the day now so near, he said, when he should land in Brittany. For Morley was the cartel port with England, and of what route he should take to the Pyrenees. At your affairs, Monsieur, how do they go? How I do not know, answered Kaul. But I think I am not yet free of the shadow of Huntington jail.

Lennepveux shook his head with an air of knowledge. Ah, no, you will not go to an English jail. I think of you. I see you on the sea. Yet I shall be free before you.

At this moment Mr. Wonklin put his head into the room. How you are wanted, de Sablier. A guard has come to take you to the superintendent at once. How why, asked Raoul. How I don't know, replied Mr. Wonklin.

How you do know, said Raoul to himself. The sentinel is worse, I suppose. Dead, perhaps. No, no, he's not dead, said Mr. Wonklin with such haste that Raoul was certain he was lying. He got up and straightened himself.

Good-bye, Lennepveux, he said gently, taking his hands. Remember to greet France for me when you get to Morley. The brilliant wasted smile followed him out into the ward where the corporal's escort was waiting for him. End of section 8.