All around was the crack of rifle shots, the boom of cannon, and still
they pressed on, fighting their way inch by inch.

Suddenly Bob found himself bereft of his sword; his revolver was in his
left hand, but in the mad struggle his sword had been stricken from the
right.

Words of command could scarcely be heard amidst the din and clamour; on
his right hand a soldier fell with the bayonet in his chest of a
German, who at the same time fell from a wound which the Englishman had
inflicted on him. Scarcely had the Englishman fallen, when he saw the
bayonets of the enemy directed towards himself.

Seizing the Englishman's rifle--the bayonet fixed at the end of which
was red with blood--he sought to defend himself. Directing his
attention to the man who rushed upon him, he fought with all the
strength he possessed: "I have mastered him," was the thought which
came into his mind, as the German staggered back, but before he could
make his victory sure, a blow, whence he did not know, struck him on
the collar-bone; a hot, burning pain passed through his side, as he
felt himself falling; a moment later there was a stampede over his body.

"It's all over with me," he said, and then he felt himself becoming
unconscious.

In a hazy kind of fashion he thought our men were pressing forward, and
that the Germans were falling back from them; but this was an
impression rather than a thought. Presently it seemed to him that
silence reigned. He felt very weary, but suffered no pain. He thought
he heard the sound of distant guns; but they were no longer guns, they
were the waves which beat upon the great rocks around Gurnard's Head,
while he and Nancy sat in the shade, under the cliff, while he told her
the story of his love. He was repeating to her the resolves which had
been so suddenly born in his mind.

"Yes, Nancy," he said aloud, "I've found my mission; I am going in for
war--war against war; that is the noblest work a man can do."

It was all very unreal; all far, far away. "The night is falling fast;
how can Nancy and I get home?" he reflected. Then he heard some one
singing close by him; it was the song popular amongst the soldiers--a
song in which he himself had joined a hundred times:

"It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long, long way to go."

He turned his head, and saw a soldier at his side. He too, had been
stricken down in the battle; he, too was unconscious of what he was
doing.

"Yes, it's