which a very
faint light was beginning to break....

I touched him on the arm and he started, as though he had been very
far away.

"How did Trenchard die?"

He answered at once, very readily: "About three o'clock the shells
were close. The wagons arrived a little before seven so we had fully
four anxious hours. We had had everything ready all the afternoon and,
of course, just then we couldn't go out to fetch the wounded and I
think that the army sanitars were working in another direction, so
that we had nothing to do--which was pretty trying. I didn't see Mr.
until just before seven. He had been busy upstairs about something and
then at the sound of the wagons he came out. I had noticed that all
day he had seemed very much quieter and more cheerful. He had been in
a wretched condition on the earlier days, nervous and over-strained,
and I was very glad to see him so much better. We were all working
then, moving the wounded from the house to the wagons. We couldn't
hear one another speak, the noise was so terrific. Andrey and Mr. were
directing the sanitars near the house. Semyonov and I were near the
wagons. I had looked up and shouted something to Andrey when suddenly
I heard a shell that seemed as though it would break right over me. I
braced myself, as one does, to meet it. For a moment I heard nothing
but the noise; my nostrils were choked with the smell and my eyes
blinded with dust. But I knew that I had not been hit, and I stood
there, rather stupidly, wondering. Then cleared. I saw that all the
right corner of the house was gone, and that Semyonov had run forward
and was kneeling on the ground. With all the shouting and firing it
was very difficult to realise anything. I ran to Semyonov. Andrey ...
but I won't ... I can't ... he must have been right under the thing
and was blown to pieces. Mr., strangely enough, lying there with his
arms spread out, seemed to have been scarcely touched. But I saw at
once when I came to him that he had only a few moments to live, He had
a terrible stomach wound but was suffering no pain, I think. Semyonov
was kneeling, with his arm behind his head, looking straight into his
eyes.

"'Mr., Mr.,' he said several times, as though he wanted to rouse him
to consciousness. Then, quite suddenly, Mr. seemed to realise. He
looked at Semyonov and smiled, one of those rather timid, shy smiles
that were so customary with him. His eyes though were not timid. They
were filled with the s