And then before he could say a word of gratitude, the black cloud began to steal over him once more and his eyes closed. Falkland thought him dead, and remounting, rode back to rejoin Wilmot and urge him to attempt a decisive charge, for, like so many, he clung to the hope that the war might be ended by one great battle. At the same moment Hampden was urging a similar request to Essex, but the Generals on either side refused to venture a further attempt, and the gathering twilight gave them some excuse. The King’s standard-bearer, Sir Edward Verney, had been killed; the Royal Standard was taken; thousands of men lay dead or dying on the blood-stained plain, and the drawn battle of Edgehill was over. Gabriel’s swoon must have lasted long, for it was quite dark when he again came to himself, he was too weak from loss of blood to wish definitely to live, though still the dead Scotsman’s words sounded in his ears and braced him to a certain extent, kept him, at any rate, from voluntarily letting go his precarious hold on life. Then a memory of Falkland’s pitying face came back to him, and he tried to think how it could have been possible that the Secretary of State should be there just at that minute. Early in the afternoon he had seen him with Wilmot’s men and had been surprised that one in his position should have exposed himself so needlessly. It must, he imagined, have been while returning with Wilmot from the pursuit of Fielding’s routed troop that he had chanced to ride in his direction. He moved a little, longing to make out where he lay, and how the day had gone, but the frightful agony of the attempt quickly made him desist; he sank down with his head propped up a little on the dead body of the horse which Falkland had put out of its pain. And now he could make out here and there fires at some little distance on his left, while two or three fires on the top of Edgehill led him to think that the Royalists had retired again up the heights, and that Essex’s army intended to remain on the field throughout the night. Doubtless, in the morning, hostilities would be resumed. The far away sound of a psalm raised him for a time above his pain; he prayed silently for the cause that had cost him so dear, and his thoughts wandered back to his home and to Hilary. How her face would have lighted up if he could have told her about Lord Falkland! Somehow, he could almost fancy the same pitying tone in her voice, had she come upon him in so terrible a plight. The thought gave him no little comfort. But what was this horrible cold creeping over him? This icy chill which made the torture of his wound almost intolerable? Was this how death came when men were left to bleed on the battle-field? Was the death he had once so ardently desired coming to him now? All the youth within him rose up as if in protest. He longed, with an agony of longing, to live, and be once more physically strong.