May Margaret nodded, and they were about to shake hands, when one side of the trench seemed to rise up and smash against their faces, with a roar that stunned them. May Margaret picked herself up at once, wiping the bits of grit out of her eyes. The bombardment appeared to be growing in intensity. "That was pretty near," said Major Hilton. "You'd better come into my dugout till this blows over." He led the way into his gloomy little cavern. It was not much of a shelter from a direct hit; but it would protect them from flying splinters at least. "Mr. Davidson was my friend," said May Margaret at once. "I know his people. I think there must be some mistake about ... about the grave." "You're not a relative of his, are you?" said Major Hilton. "Had you known him for long?" "No. Less than a year." "Well, I don't mind telling _you_ that there _was_ a mistake. We discovered it a few hours after it was made; but we thought it better not to upset his people by giving them further details." "He was killed, then," May Margaret whispered; and, if the darkness of the dugout had not veiled her face, Major Hilton would not have continued. "Yes. It was a trench raid. The Boches took a section of our trenches. When we recovered it, we found him. You'd better not tell his people, but I don't mind telling _you_. It was a pretty bad case." "What do you mean?" "One of those filthy Boche tricks. They'd nailed him up against the lining of the trench with bayonets. He was still alive when we found him. But they'll get it all back. We're going to give 'em hell to-night." May Margaret was silent for so long that Major Hilton peered at her more closely. Her white face looked like a bruised thing in the darkness. "I'm sorry," he said. "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you. They have done so much of that kind of thing, I suppose we've got used to it. Well, you've been tramping about all day, and if I were you, as you're going to spend the night here, I should settle down for a bit in the dugout. The bombardment seems to be easing off a little, and you'll want to be awake all night. There'll be some sights coming on of the picturesque kind--fireworks and things, which is what you want, I suppose, for the blessed old public." Far away, in another section of the trenches, there was a burst of cheering. Major Hilton pricked up his ears to listen; but it was drowned immediately in another blast outside that sealed the mouth of the dugout like a blow from a gigantic hammer and plunged them into complete darkness thick with dust and sand. "Are you all right?" said Hilton, in a moment or two. "They've blown the parapet over us. Our chaps will soon get us out." They sat down and waited. The sound of their rescuers' shovels was followed almost immediately by the pulling away of a sandbag, and the dusty daylight filtered in again, bringing with it another roar of cheering, nearer now, and rolling along the trenches like an Atlantic breaker.