He ran into the next room and the next. He ran all through the house calling, "Comrade! Little comrade!" But there was no reply. The rooms were empty, one and all. Half-suffocated, palsied with despair, he reeled back to the room where he had left her, and stared about it. Could he be mistaken? No; there was the bucket, the bandages---- But what was that dark stain in the middle of the white, sanded floor. He drew close and looked at it. It was blood. Still staring, he backed away. Blood--whose blood? Not hers! Not his little comrade's! And suddenly his strength fell from him; he staggered, dropped to his knees---- This was the end, then--this was the end. There on the settle was where she had lain; it was there she had drawn him down for that last caress; and the letters,--ah, they would never be delivered now! But at least he could die there, with his head where hers had been. Blinded, choking, he dragged himself forward--here was the place! "Little comrade!" he murmured. "Little comrade!" And he fell forward across the settle, his face buried in his arms. CHAPTER XVI A TRUST FULFILLED When Stewart opened his eyes again it was to find himself looking up into a good-humored face, which he did not at first recognize. It was brown and dirty, there was a three-days' growth of beard upon cheeks and chin, and a deep red scratch across the forehead, but the eyes were bright and the lips smiling, as of a man superior to every fortune--and then he recognized the little Belgian captain whose troops had defended the village. Instantly memory surged back upon him--memory bitter and painful. He raised his head and looked about him. He was lying under a clump of trees not far from the bank of a little stream, along which a company of Belgian soldiers were busy throwing up intrenchments. "Ah, so you are better!" said the captain, in his clipped French, his eyes beaming with satisfaction. "That is good! A little more of that smoke, and it would have been all over with you!" and he gestured toward the eastern horizon, above which hung a black and threatening cloud. Stewart pulled himself to a sitting posture and stared for a moment at the cloud as it billowed in the wind. Then he passed his hand before his eyes and stared again. And suddenly all his strength seemed to go from him and he lay quietly down again. "So bad as that!" said the officer, sympathetically, struck by the whiteness of his face. "And I have nothing to give you--not a swallow of wine--not a sip!" "It will pass," said Stewart, hoarsely. "I shall be all right presently. But I do not understand French very well. Do you speak English?" "A lit-tle," answered the other, and spoke thereafter in a mixture of French and English, which Stewart found intelligible, but which need not be indicated here. "Will you tell me what happened?" Stewart asked, at last.