He could see the ruined cottage in front now, a black blur against the night. The limitless levels stretched out on either side, frogs croaked in the ponds, now and then a light shot up from the fields, trembled in air for a moment and died away. The breezes of the night, the "unseen multitude," as the ancients called them, capered by, crooning wearily. In front, far ahead, the artillery fire redoubled in intensity and the sky was lit by the brilliance of day. "Hell's loose out there," said the stranger. "It's not good to be there; it's not good to die." The stranger turned off the road and walked a few yards down a lane in the direction of the cottage. "I'm not going that way," said Fitzgerald coming to a halt. His companion stopped. "Afraid?" he said. "Afraid! H'm! I'm not afraid," the Irishman answered, nettled at the word. "All right, you go ahead. I'll follow." The man did not move. He fumbled in his pocket and brought something out, something dark, small and tipped at the points as if with silver. Fitzgerald imagined it to be a revolver and he slid his rifle forward so that its muzzle pointed at the man's body. "Hold your weapon up, you fool," said the stranger, and a note of concern was in his voice. "I've a pocket lamp here. We'll get off into the fields now and I'll light the way with this. The place is full of ponds and drains. Last night I fell into a hole somewhere about this place ... you get off in front." "I'll follow," said Fitzgerald. "You lead the way." "All right," the man meekly responded. "Now we get off the road." He slipped into the field and the Irishman followed. Both were now near the cottage and they could see its bare rafters and ruined walls clearly. It looked gloomy and forbidding.... As Fitzgerald gazed at the cottage he saw a light close to the dark ground; a tremulous flame gleamed for a moment and was gone. "Did you see that?" asked the Irishman. "A light near the cottage?" "I saw nothing," said his companion. "You didn't see the flame. There's somebody in front. Friends of yours maybe." "I've no friends here.... You saw a light?... Nonsense!" "There, what is that?" asked the Irishman as he heard a thud as of somebody falling over a hurdle. "Did you not hear it?" "Yes, what is it?" asked the stranger extinguishing his torch. "I heard something. Shall I shout?" "Why?" "Why?" exclaimed the man. "Only to find out who's there. Hallo!" he yelled. Somebody answered with a loud "hallo!" and again a light gleamed in the darkness. "Who's there?" shouted the stranger. "It's us," came the answer. "Blurry well lost in this blurry 'ole. 'Oo are yer?" "Spudhole!" Fitzgerald shouted in a glad voice for he recognised the voice of his mate. "Is Bowdy and the sergeant with you?" "Oh! It's old Fitz," Spudhole exclaimed. "We're lost, the three o' us, and we don't know where we are. D'you know the way to the farm?" "We'll soon get there," Fitzgerald replied. "I've somebody with me who knows the way."