for a few seconds, and they
were up again. Unless they were unfortunate enough to run right into
the arms of the military police, the night was offering every chance of
success. A barking dog warned them that they had come to the outskirts
of another village. Leaving the road, they circled the place by
tortuously making their way through uneven fields, until they thought
it safe once more to take the path. On they ran--past silent
fields--by streams--by murky swamps.

Towards dawn Dick was faint with fatigue. The ordeal of the last month
had cruelly sapped his vitality, and as he ran he found himself
stumbling to his knees.

'Hold hard, sir,' said the groom, who was leading. 'Another mile or
so, and you and me, sir, will breathe ourselves proper.'

Only another mile--but a mile of utter anguish. Twice Dick fell, and
the second time he could not rise without assistance.

'Mas'r Dick,' pleaded the groom, 'look 'ee, sir. Up yonder hill
somewheres about I knows there is a cornfield, for I have noted it many
a time. 'We can't hide here, sir, in this stubble. Lean on me, Mas'r
Dick--that's the way. Now, sir, for England, 'ome, and beauty.'

Struggling to retain his consciousness, Dick limped beside the old
servitor, until, gaining the hill, they saw an abandoned cornfield.
There was a roll of guns as they made their way into the field, and
through the dense blackness of the night a few streaks of gray could be
seen towards the east.

Without a sound, Dick sank to the ground in complete exhaustion. The
groom unstrapped his own greatcoat, which had been carried rolled, and
covered the lad with it. Taking a thermos bottle from his haversack,
he poured some hot tea between Dick's lips, and saw a little glow of
warmth creep into the cheeks.

'Now, sir,' he said, 'take a bit 'o' this sandwich. 'Ave another swig
o' the tea. Bless my heart, sir, won't them fellers be surprised when
they finds as how they ain't got no corpse for their funeral? That's
better, sir. I will say about army tea that even if it ain't what my
old woman would make, it's rare an' strong, Mas'r Dick--rare an' strong
an' powerful, likewise and sim'lar.'

'Mathews,' said Dick weakly, 'how was it--you were on guard--last
night? Was it just an accident?'

'Yes, sir. Just a accident. Well, not precisely a accident neither,
sir. I be what the War Office calls "a headquarter troop," and do odd
jobs behind the lines. Sometimes I dig grav