es, and other times I be a
officer's servant, and likewise do a turn o' sentry-go. Well, sir,
when I heard that you was a prisoner and was goin' for to be shot, I
persuades the corp'l to put me on guard, exchangin' a diggin' job with
a bloke by the name o' Griggs, so as not to incormode the records o'
the War Office. That's all, sir. There I were, and here we be; and
arter you've had a sleep, you and me will have a jaw on our immed'ate
future. 'Ave a good snooze, Mas'r Dick, and I'll keep an eye trimmed
on the road.'

With the same boyishness he had shown that night in Selwyn's rooms,
Dick put out his hand and pressed the old groom's arm. With a paternal
air, Mathews patted the hand with his own and reached for his pipe,
explaining that he would steal a smoke before daylight. But the lad
did not hear him. He was lost in a deep, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE FIGHT FOR THE BRIDGE.

I.

It was nearly noon when the tired youth awoke. He looked wonderingly
about, and there was a haunting fear in his light eyes, like those of a
stag that dreads the hunters. From the north there came the sound of
drum-fire, a weird, almost tedious, rhythm of guns working at a feverish
pace; and the near-by road was a mass of jumbled traffic. Ambulances,
supply-wagons, field-artillery, lorries, with jingling harness or
snorting engines--streams of vehicles moved slowly up and down their
channel. At a reckless speed motorcyclists, carrying urgent messages,
swerved through it all; and in the ditches that ran alongside, refugees
were stumbling on, fleeing from the new terror, their crouching,
misshapen figures like players from a grotesque drama of the Macabre.

'The sausage-eaters,' said Mathews philosophically, 'must be feelin'
their oats, sir.'

At the sound of the familiar voice the fear passed from Dick's face.
Memory had returned, and he smiled, though his body trembled as if with a
chill. 'I'm starved,' he said, 'and I have nothing with me. How long
did I sleep, Mathews?'

'Pretty near seven hours, Mas'r Dick. Here you are, sir--feedin'-time,
and the bugle's went.'

He handed Durwent a sandwich, which the young man devoured ravenously,
washing it down with some cold tea. Mathews also munched at a sandwich,
and through the cornstalks they watched the two currents of war-traffic
eddying past each other. There was a roar of engines behind them, and,
flying low, a formation of sixteen British aeroplanes