next to the corner in which lay the wounded men, and the prisoner. As I crossed the platform, and took my place, Noreen arose from beside one of the bodies, and her hands grasped my arm.
"The soldier who was shot in the chest has just died," she said, her voice trembling. "He—he tried to tell me something, but—but it was too late."
"And the other man?"
"His hurt is not so serious. I tore my skirt and bound it up, but there was no water. I—I wish he wouldn't groan so."
Her face, white in the moonlight, was uplifted; I even thought I could see the glint of tears in the eyes. Suddenly a great wave of sympathy, of regret, seemed to sweep over me, and I leaned the carbine against the wall, and clasped both her hands in mine.
"We grow accustomed to groans in war," I said swiftly, "but what unmans me is your being here exposed to all this danger."
"Oh, no one will hurt me; I am not afraid for myself—truly I am not. Captain Fox would never permit them to harm me."
"True; if Fox comes through alive; but Cowan and Raymond are both here also, and I know not which I distrust the more. I did wrong to permit
