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,