A glorious moon filled the world with its pale radiance. The shadows of the mountains and kopjes were black as Indian ink in the white light. Here and there were points of fire, and in the distance a glimpse of the white tents of the camp. To the right rose the great mass of Spion Kop, with its flat table top dark and menacing. But a few hours and there would be a deadly struggle on that pinnacle. Already the generals were maturing their plans for the assault. Occasionally the boom of a gun could be heard, for the Boers had not yet desisted from firing, in spite of the lateness of the hour. Brenda paid no heed to all this. She strained her eyes toward the rising ground they were approaching. Was he dead or alive? All her life was bound up in the answer to that question. The Indian bearers swung along at a slow trot, and she followed closely on Wilfred's arm. He felt her shiver although the night was warm, and did his best to console her. And she never forgot his brotherly kindness at that terrible hour. They climbed up the slope which earlier in the day had been swept by rifle fire. Now the Boers had retreated to another point of vantage, and the position was held by a small force of our men. As the ambulance party approached it was challenged and the word was given. In a few minutes the bearers were within the entrenchments. "Glad you've come," said the officer in charge; "there are many poor fellows here who require your attention. The enemy are removing their dead now." He addressed these remarks to the doctor, but he saluted when he saw Brenda, whom he knew. "I expected you, Mrs. Burton. Your husband is over yonder. We have made him as comfortable as possible." "Then he is not dead?" gasped Brenda, turning faint. "Oh, no," he said cheerily, "he is worth a dozen dead men. You'll soon pull him round. Over there." He pointed to the left and she hurried away. Wilfred lingered behind to speak to the officer. "Have you noticed a particularly tall man with the Boers?" he asked, "a man with a golden beard?" "Yes. He asked after Burton. It seems he was a friend of his before the war." "Has he seen him?" asked Wilfred, turning pale, for well he knew the reason of Van Zwieten's inquiries. "No, I think not. But he intends to look him up shortly. I think your brother will pull through, Burton," and he hurried away to attend to his duties. Wilfred stood still and meditated. He grasped his revolver. "The man has lived too long," he murmured; "I must do it!" Then he moved toward the group round his brother. Brenda was supporting his head, and a doctor was examining the wound in the poor fellow's chest. "We must wait till we get him to the hospital," he said. "Have him put into the ambulance, Mrs. Burton." "Has he a chance, doctor?" she asked with quivering lips. "I can't say yet. The bullet has pierced the lung. Hope for the best."