But the Germans, though they had suffered terribly, were not yet routed. A remnant of them held together behind the houses at the end of the street, and still others took up a position behind the barricade and swept the street with their rifles. The little officer bit his lip in perplexity as he looked about at his company, so sadly reduced in numbers. Should he try to retake the barricade with a rush, or should he wait for reënforcements? He loved his men--surely, they had more than played their part. Then his eye was caught by a bent figure which dodged from doorway to doorway. "That madman again!" he muttered, and watched, expecting every instant to see him fall. For Stewart had not waited for the captain's decision. Almost before the Germans turned to flee, he was creeping low along the wall, taking advantage of such shelter as there was. The whistle of the machine-gun's bullets filled the street. One nipped him across the wrist, another grazed his arm, and then, as the Germans rallied, he saw ahead of him the vicious flashes of their rifles. He was not afraid; indeed, he was strangely calm. He was quite certain that he would not be killed--others might fall, but not he. Others--yes, here they were; dozens, scores, piled from wall to wall. For here was where the machine-gun had caught the German advance and smote it down. They lay piled one upon another, young men, all of them; some lying with arms flung wide, staring blindly up at the sky; a few moaning feebly, knowing only that they suffered; two or three trying to pull themselves from beneath the heap of dead; one coward burrowing deeper into it! He could hear the thud, thud of the bullets from either end of the street as they struck the mass of bodies, dead and wounded alike, until there were no longer any wounded; until even the coward lay still! Sick and dizzy, he pushed on. Was this the house? The door stood open and he stepped inside and looked around. No, this was not it. The next one, perhaps--all these houses looked alike from the street. As he reached the door, a swirl of acrid smoke beat into his face. He looked out quickly. The barricade was obscured by smoke; dense masses rolled out of the houses on either side. The Germans had fired the village! Into the next house Stewart staggered--vainly; and into the next. He could hear the crackling of the flames; the smoke grew thicker---- Into the next! He knew it the instant he crossed the threshold; yes, this was the entry, this was the room, there was the settle---- He stopped, staring, gasping---- The settle was empty. Slowly he stepped forward, gazing about him. Yes, there was the bucket of water on the floor, just as he had left it; there were the blood-stained rags; there was the torn sheet. But the settle was empty. He threw himself beside it and ran his hands over it, to be sure that his eyes were not deceiving him. No; the settle was empty.