By the light of a lantern we could descry two officers kneeling upon the ground; between them on the grass lay the figure of a third, upon whose features, as the pale light fell, the hand of death seemed rapidly stealing. A slight froth, tinged with blood, rested on his lip, and the florid blood which stained the buff facing of his uniform indicated that his wound was through the lungs. “He has fainted,” said one of the officers, in a low tone. “Are you certain it is fainting?” said the other, in a still lower. “You see how it is, Charley,” said O’Shaughnessy; “this poor boy must be carried to the rear. Will you then, like a kind fellow, hasten back to Colonel Campbell and mention the fact. It will kill Beauclerc should any doubt rest upon his conduct, if he ever recover this.” While he spoke, four soldiers of the regiment placed the wounded officer in a blanket. A long sigh escaped him, and he muttered a few broken words. “Poor fellow, it’s his mother he’s talking of! He only joined a month since, and is a mere boy. Come, O’Malley, lose no time. By Jove! it is too late; there goes the first rocket for the columns to form. In ten minutes more the stormers must fall in.” “What’s the matter, Giles?” said he to one of the officers, who had stopped the soldiers as they were moving off with their burden,--“what is it?” “I have been cutting the white tape off his arm; for if he sees it on waking, he’ll remember all about the storming.” “Quite right--thoughtfully done!” said the other; “but who is to lead his fellows? He was in the forlorn hope.” “I’ll do it,” cried I, with eagerness. “Come, O’Shaughnessy, you’ll not refuse me.” “Refuse you, boy!” said he, grasping my hand within both of his, “never! But you must change your coat. The gallant Eighty-eighth will never mistake their countryman’s voice. But your uniform would be devilish likely to get you a bayonet through it; so come back with me, and we’ll make you a Ranger in no time.” “I can give your friend a cap.” “And I,” said the other, “a brandy flask, which, after all, is not the worst part of a storming equipage.” “I hope,” said O’Shaughnessy, “they may find Maurice in the rear. Beauclerc’s all safe in his hands.” “That they’ll not,” said Giles, “you may swear. Quill is this moment in the trenches, and will not be the last man at the breach.” “Follow me now, lads,” said O’Shaughnessy, in a low voice. “Our fellows are at the angle of this trench. Who the deuce can that be, talking so loud?” “It must be Maurice,” said Giles. The question was soon decided by the doctor himself, who appeared giving directions to his hospital-sergeant. “Yes, Peter, take the tools up to a convenient spot near the breach. There’s many a snug corner there in the ruins; and although we mayn’t have as good an operation-room as in old ‘Steevens’s,’ yet we’ll beat them hollow in cases.”