Jim found himself the centre of a raging mob. He had snatched up a rifle, and, swinging it by the muzzle, kept a rough circle clear of Jack's body. But vicious bayonets were jabbing at him all round, and a bullet went singing past his head. "Cowards Murderers! Do you call this fighting fair?" he shouted savagely. And of a sudden the mob parted, and an officer was belabouring his men with the flat of his sword and strong words. "Vous vous rendez?" he cried to Jim. "Suppose I must," he growled. "All right!" said the Russian. "Go there! Allez!" and pushed him towards the gorge. Jim stooped and endeavoured to lift Jack. "Quoi donc? What?" "My brother. I must take him." "Dead?" "My God!" gasped Jim at the word, as all that would mean to them all flashed upon him. "No, no! I hope not--only wounded." "We cannot take him," "We must." The Russian used language, then called to one of his men, who sulkily took Jack's limp legs while Jim took him under the arms, and they stumbled away downhill, leaving a strong force in possession of the Ovens. Skirting a dark sheet of water, they came on a road where some rough carts were waiting. The wounded were bundled into them, and a place found for Jack, and Jim trudged behind with his hand on the tail of the cart, and his heart full of bitterness. Their fun had become, of a sudden, grimmest earnest. They turned to the right over a bridge, where many lights gleamed on the water in front, and so came at last to a great building which proved to be the hospital. CHAPTER LVIII CHILL NEWS The first news of trouble reached Carne in a brief letter from Colonel Carron to Sir Denzil. Gracie and the Rev. Charles were sitting over their tea one afternoon in the quiet, hopeful despondency--if the expression may be permitted--which had become the natural state of all who had dear ones at the war. They were full of fears; they cherished hope; they waited with quiet resignation what each day might bring forth. When Kennet rapped on the door of the cottage, Gracie's heart jumped and sank, and Eager incongruously thought of the old Latin Grammar tag: _Mors æquo pede_ . . . ("Death with equal foot knocks at the door of rich and poor"). "Sir Denzil begs you will come and see him at once, sir." "Bad news, Kennet?" asked Eager, as he reached down his hat. "He didn't say, sir; but he's in a bad-enough humour. Not that that's much to go by, though, these days "--from which one gathers that even Sir Denzil's equanimity was not entirely unaffected by the disturbances of the times. Gracie had slipped on her cloak and little fur turban. He looked at her doubtfully. But she shook her head with decision. "I could not possibly wait here, fearing everything," she said; and they went along together. Sir Denzil expressed no surprise at sight of her.