Horace saw the gesture but the words were lost in a terrific roar which projected the air in waves which seemed almost solid as they struck. In the place where the house had stood there remained only a rising column of brick-dust, rosy red. Above this towered a petaled cloud of black smoke, and above this, again, a fountain compounded of particles of the house, of earth, and of shell driven upwards by the force of the explosion. Horace no longer felt any eagerness to see shell-fire. He was thoroughly frightened. A look of panic had crept into his eyes. Not for the world, though, would he have admitted it. He did not try to speak. His throat was parched and the roof of his mouth was dry. They picked up the stretcher in silence. "Here is the doctor's house," said the master, as they entered the village, and, turning, met the young surgeon on his way out of the gate. "Patient for you, Doctor!" said the master. "Father will attend to him," came the reply, "I'm hurrying to Liége. They need me there. What is it? Accident case?" "Shell splinter," said the master. The doctor halted and turned back. "Already!" he exclaimed. Horace and the master carried their burden into the house, the doctor following them. "I'll look at him," he said, "and let Father dress the wound. He hasn't practiced for ten years, but every medical man will have to work now, I'm thinking." They laid Deschamps on the operating table. Quickly and deftly the young surgeon unwound the bandages which the master had tied around the wounded lad's head, and examined the injury carefully. Then he reached for his instruments. "He will be blind," he said, "totally blind, without hope of recovery." "He was to have been an artist," said the master. "Yes," replied the surgeon. "War is made up of broken lives!" FOOTNOTES: [1] The master could not have said this in 1914, for the secret documents were not made public until 1918. The author makes him say it, here, to show the political moves clearly. [2] Later in August, 1914, Germany declared that the Belgian Garde Civique would be considered as non-combatant. It was therefore dismissed, though afterwards reformed. CHAPTER II THE HEROES OF THE FORTS The whistling shells burst over Fort Embourg, near by, with ever-increasing frequency, while the surgeon, oblivious to their menace, worked over the wounded boy. The vibrations of the 6-inch guns, as the forts replied, shook the house, but no one flinched or spoke while the doctor busied himself with his patient. At last, having rebandaged the wound, he stepped back and said, "There, now, I think he'll do." "Where shall we take him, Doctor?" queried the master. "There isn't any hospital in Embourg, nor in Beaufays, and Liége will have sufficient problems to face in taking care of its own wounded." "The boy can stay here," the doctor replied. "Father will treat him and Mother will do all the nursing necessary." He looked off into the distance with lowered eyebrows.