From the moment that he fell Macpherson had not spoken; he lay motionless with his face turned up and the light of the blazing torch falling on it. Only once he pressed the hand of Gervase with a gentle pressure; that was all the sign he gave of consciousness. A surgeon had been sent for but there seemed to be no probability of his arriving in time, and they hastily began to construct a hurdle on which to carry the old soldier home. Though he had been quick to punish any breach of discipline, he had always been forward with his praise, and they had long since learnt that he would not ask them to go where he was not ready to lead them. They had come to impose implicit confidence in his wisdom and courage, while they had seen in a thousand instances that a warm and kindly heart lay under his rugged manner and surly speech. They had been wont to say that Roaring Meg and the old Captain were children of the same mother; but there was many a moist eye in the trenches that night when they learned that the old fire-eater had come to his end. While they were getting ready the hurdle on which to carry him to the city, Gervase had not moved but still knelt holding his head on his knees. The blow was so sudden and so unexpected that he had not had time to realize it. Notwithstanding the evidence of his senses, he could not believe that he was in the presence of death. He did not once think of his own miraculous escape nor of how this might affect the woman he loved, but stunned and bewildered, he endeavoured to make clear to his own mind that his friend was dying. Macpherson´s lips moved and Gervase bent down to catch the words, but for a time they were broken and inaudible. Then with an effort he lifted his hand and motioned to the men who were gathered round, to withdraw. He had still much difficulty in speaking but Gervase was able to catch the meaning of his words now. “I´m going home, lad,” he said, “going home. I was called, and--and--you will promise me.” Gervase did not speak but only pressed his hand. “She must never know who has done this--never till the Judgment. She is proud, and it would break her heart. Only you and I--we know, and we will keep the secret. You will promise; you are a good lad, and my old heart was turned toward you.” Gervase was not ashamed of the tears that streamed down his face. He brushed them away with the back of his hand, and tried to speak as well as his feelings would permit him. “I am glad you promised. Don´t grieve for me; it was better that I should go than you. The campaign is over and I am going home.” They placed him on the stretcher and carried him back to the city. Already as they passed through Bishops-Gate, the crimson light of the dawn had filled the sky, and the stars had failed, and the shadows had passed away in the rosy glow of the pleasant summer morning.