Bob and his brother, still side by side, were retiring after them at a brisk walk, when a man of Dennis's section passed them at the double, going in the direction of the redoubt which they had carried, and they saw him run up alongside Hawke, who was a few yards ahead of them. The crash of the shells in their rear drowned Hawke's exclamation, but they saw him stop and turn, look under his hand at the barrage, and dart back towards it like a hare. "Hawke, stop! Are you mad?" cried Bob, making a grab at him as he went by, but Hawke's face was white and set, and he paid no heed as they watched him curiously. "I know!" shouted Dennis in his brother's ear, "his chum's hit. Look at that, Bob--there's devotion for you! Those two fellows are the greatest toughs in the regiment, and they're inseparables." They saw the little Cockney private fling himself down on his knees beside a fallen man, tear with both hands at the front of his tunic, and then fling his arms up above his head with a tragic gesture of despair. Then he slung his rifle, and, stooping again, dragged the figure up, hoisted him across his shoulder, and came staggering back under the heavy load, the heroic group telling blackly out against the searchlights' white glare. A shell burst thirty feet way, but the little Cockney came doggedly on, and they waited for him, even retracing their steps to meet him. "What's up, Hawke?" shouted Dennis; "do you want us to give you a hand?" And he was about to add something else, but the look of piteous entreaty in Hawke's eyes checked the words. "I'd rather take him in myself, sir," he said hoarsely; "it's true what they says in the papers abart making a man a new face in the 'orspitals, ain't it? They'll be able to patch 'im up, don't you think, sir?" Dennis and Bob exchanged a look, for the savage earnestness hit them both hard from its very hopelessness. Tiddler's visage was nothing but a hideous pulp. And they knew in a moment that poor Tiddler had already passed beyond all human aid; Major Dashwood made another mental note, to be placed upon official record later on--if he himself should be spared! At the mouth of a communication Hawke paused to readjust his burden. The limp figure was somehow slipping from his grasp, and, seeing at last, he realised that his errand had been in vain. As he stood looking down at the crumpled thing that a few minutes before had been a living, moving part of the great war machine, Dennis laid a hand on his shoulder. "He was a good plucked 'un, Hawke, and you did your best for him," said Dennis; "now you've got to keep a stiff upper lip." "Yus, I know, sir," was the husky reply, as something rolled glistening down the dirty cheek. "'Im and me 'listed the same day, and Tiddler was the only pal I ever 'ad." He turned a fierce and flashing eye towards the enemy barrage; an eye that positively flamed vengeance to come, and then he pointed with his hand.