d. "We want no change, and my father has
said, talking it over with me again and again, he has two sons and loves
us both equally, and it would be a deep grief to him now to know for
certain that one of us is not his son. I will walk across to the
hospital and ask how the sergeant is going on. I am strangely placed
towards him now."

"It is a curious position," Easton said; "but in any case you do but
stand towards him as a son would do towards a father who had given him
up in infancy to be adopted by someone else."

Rupert did not reply, but, saying, "Wait here until I come back," walked
over to the hospital lines. He returned in a few minutes.

"The doctor says he is sinking," he said gravely. "I shall go over there
and remain until all is over."

"Will he be sensible at the last?" he asked the surgeon as he stood by
the litter.

"Possibly," the surgeon said.

"I have a great interest in asking, doctor; I am most anxious to have a
few words with him if possible before he dies."

"If you will call me if he opens his eyes," the surgeon said, "I will do
what I can to rouse him. His pulse is getting weaker and weaker; I do
not think the end is far off."

Half an hour later the dying man opened his eyes. Rupert beckoned to the
surgeon, who came across at once and poured a few drops of spirits
between his lips, and moistened his forehead with a sponge dipped in
vinegar and water.

"Do you know me, Humphreys?" Rupert asked. "I am Rupert Clinton."

The dying man's face brightened. Then his lips moved. "Where is Smith?
He left me to get help; he never returned."

"He is away now," Rupert said, anxious not to disturb the dying man.
"When we got to you you were insensible, that was two days ago. Edgar is
not in camp at present."

"There is a letter for you."

"Yes, it was found on you and I have read it, and I know how we stand
towards each other, and that perhaps you are my father; here is the
letter."

"I will swear to it; get a witness."

Rupert called the surgeon. "Doctor, the sergeant wishes you to hear him
swear that this letter was written by him and that its contents are
true."

"Bible," the sergeant said faintly.

A Bible was brought and the dying man's hand placed upon it. "I swear,"
he said in a firmer voice than that in which he had hitherto spoken,
"that this letter was written by me and that every word in it is true,
and that neither I nor my wife, nor anyone save God, knows whether
Trumpete