"If all comes true that people have prophesied about the terrors of modern war," the surgeon continued, thoughtfully, "it's likely that every woman in Belgium will have to become a nurse." "Couldn't I stay and help to take care of Deschamps, sir?" asked Horace. "No," the master answered, "you're within the zone of fire as it is. You must return to Beaufays without delay." Horace would have protested but that he knew the master's words were not to be gainsaid. "Did you say that you were on your way to Liége?" asked the doctor abruptly, turning to the old reservist. "Yes," was the reply. "Let us go together, then," the doctor said, "for Belgium will need my case of surgical instruments as much as she will need your rifle. Wait a moment until I call Father." He returned a minute or two later accompanied by a small and withered but keen-eyed old man, whom he introduced to the master and Horace, and to whom he described with technical detail the injuries suffered by the lad who was still extended, motionless, on the operating table. "Very well, Hilaire," answered the old man, in a high, reedy voice, "leave the patient to me, my son. I have not forgotten all that I once knew. Not yet, oh, no!" He turned to the master. "My son, Monsieur, my son!" he said, paternally. "It is something of which we may be proud, is it not, when our children carry on the work which we have begun?" The old man patted the young surgeon on the arm, talking garrulously the while. "A good boy, Monsieur, a good boy," he said. "I was the first to teach him, but he has outstripped me. Then, too, his wrist has the steadiness of youth, while mine--" He held out a shaking hand. "But the brain is clear still, Monsieur," he went on, "do not fear. Your pupil shall have the best of care." He walked feebly to the operating table. There, his whole figure changed. Unconsciously his back straightened, his hand ceased to tremble, and, as he bent over the patient, his eyes narrowed with the penetration that they must have borne twenty years before. The master observed him closely. "The lad is in good hands," he said, in a low voice; "come, let us go." He turned to the aged physician. "Monsieur," he said, "I feel it is an honor that we of the older generation can still serve Belgium. The first young victim of this war is in your keeping. I--" he paused, "I have no children, only the children of my school. It is my child, therefore, Monsieur, that I leave with you." "He shall be as a child of mine," the old man answered. Father and son embraced and the little party of three left the doctor's house. At the gate the master paused. "Monroe," he said, "you must get back to Beaufays as quickly as you can. Try to be there before it is altogether dark. Lose no time, but do not go by the road. Strike south across the fields from here until you come to the river (Ourthe), then follow the banks as far as the road from Tilff, whence it will be safe to take the Beaufays road."