into his eyes a strange
dimness.

"He is struck--he is wounded!" said Humphrey in a low voice,
bending over him. "Help, Julian; we must carry him to the rear."

Julian half expected resistance on the part of Wolfe; but no word
passed his lips. They were growing ashy white.

With a groan of anguish--for he felt as though he knew what was
coming--Julian bent to the task, and the pair conveyed the light,
frail form through the melee of the battlefield towards the place
where the wounded had been carried, and where Fritz still lay. A
surgeon came hastily forward, and seeing who it was, uttered an
exclamation of dismay.

Wolfe opened his dim eyes. He saw Julian's face, but all the rest
was blotted out in a haze.

"Lay me down," he said faintly; "I want nothing."

"The surgeons are here," said Julian anxiously as they put him out
of the hot rays of the sun, which was now shining over heights and
plains.

"They can do nothing for me," said Wolfe, in the same faint, dreamy
way; "let them look to those whom they can help."

A death-like faintness was creeping over him. The surgeon put a
stimulating draught to his lips; and when a part had been
swallowed, proceeded to make a partial examination of the injuries
sustained. But when he had opened the breast of his coat and saw
two orifices in the neighbourhood of the heart, he shook his head,
and laid the wounded man down to rest.

Julian felt a spasm of pain shoot through his heart, like a thrust
from a bayonet.

"Can you do nothing?" he asked in a whisper.

"Nothing," was the reply. "He has not an hour to live."

"To be cut off in the very hour of victory!" exclaimed Humphrey,
with a burst of sorrow. "It is too hard--too hard!"

"Yet it is what he desired for himself," said Julian, in a low
voice. I think it is what he himself would have chosen."

"He has suffered more than any of us can well imagine," said the
surgeon gravely. "We can scarcely grudge to him the rest and peace
of the long, last sleep."

Humphrey turned away to dash the tears from his eyes. In his
silent, dog-like fashion, he had loved their young General with a
great and ardent love, and it cut him to the heart to see him lying
there white and pulseless, his life ebbing slowly away, without
hope of a rally.

A sign from somebody at a little distance attracted his attention.
He crossed the open space of ground, and bent over Fritz, who lay
bandaged and partially helpless amongst the wounded,