Quick as thought Gervase saw the barrel of a pistol flashing in the moonlight, presented straight at his breast. Macpherson saw it too, and sprang forward as if to leap the trench, when there came a blinding flash and a loud cry as Macpherson fell forward on his face. Gervase followed his impulse, which was to secure the miscreant who had done this base and cowardly act, but when he had reached the summit of the rampart, he was rapidly disappearing in the darkness and it was impossible to overtake him. So with a bitter feeling in his heart and something that sounded like an imprecation on his lips, he turned back to his wounded friend. The sound of the shot had attracted the attention of the men nearest to them in the trenches; they came hurrying up believing that the attack had begun, but when they saw Macpherson lying on the ground and Gervase kneeling by his side, their alarm was changed to suspicion and surprise. There was an unbroken silence in front under the quiet summer sky; not a blade of grass was stirring on the hillside. It was clear to them that this blow had not come from the enemy, and full of surprise and wonder, they watched Gervase as he bent over the fallen man and opened his vest to find the wound. Macpherson was still conscious; the blood that was pouring from a wound in his breast had dyed his shirt deep red, and they noticed that he had not let go his hold upon the hilt of his sword. But there was that look in his face that every man in that company had seen too frequently for months to mistake--that look in the presence of which there is no hope, and which speaks inevitably of a speedy dissolution. It was clear to them all that the last sands of his life had nearly run out. A sergeant of his regiment running up the lines had brought down a blazing brand of fir, by the light of which Gervase stanched the flowing blood as well as he was able. He felt his hand shaking as he bound up the wound, nor could he trust himself to make any answer to the eager questions that were poured upon him. It required no skill to tell that the wound was mortal; it was only a question of hours, perhaps of minutes; and the thought that pressed most strongly upon him was that it was to save his life that Macpherson had lost his own. Rugged and staunch and true, a loyal friend, a valiant soldier, he had hardly recognized his worth or the affection he had begun to bear toward him, until the time had come for them to part.