--his time was all too precious
to give much of it where it was evident that his skill could be of no
avail--but before going he had done what he could for the sick man's
comfort, and he lay now, pale, worn, and wan, but no longer in pain, and
by the bedside--a low narrow camp stretcher--sat a young soldier, holding
from time to time a cup of water to the dry lips of the dying man. Clumsy
he might be, but there was no lack of tenderness in his manner or
expression.

"That's one of our men that the doctor sent in,' whispered Montagu; 'the
poor fellow there had been lying alone for two or three days, and no one
knew. His Greek servant--scoundrels those fellows are--had deserted him.'

"Jack cautiously approached the bed.

"'This is Mr. Berkeley--Jack Berkeley of the 300th, whom you said you
would like to see,' said Captain Montagu gently, stepping in front of
Jack.

"The sick man's eyes lightened up, and a faint flush rose in his cheeks.
He was very fair, and lying there looked very young, younger somehow than
Jack had expected. _Had_ he ever seen him before? There was nothing
remarkable about the face except its peculiarly gentle and placid
expression--yet it was a face of considerable resolution as well, and
there were lines about the mouth which told of endurance and fortitude,
almost contradicting the wistfulness of the boyish-looking blue eyes.
Jack grew more and more puzzled. _Something_ seemed familiar to him,
yet----

"'How good, how very good of you to come. Do you remember me, Berkeley?'
said the invalid, feebly stretching out a thin hand, which Jack
instinctively took and held gently in his own strong grasp.

"Jack hesitated. A look of disappointment overspread the pale face.

"'I am afraid you don't know me. Perhaps you would not have come if you
had understood who it was.'

"'I did not hear your name,' said Jack, very gently, 'but, of course,
hearing you wished to see me----' he hesitated. 'Were we at Ryeburn
together?'

"'Yes,' said the dying man. 'My--my name is Sawyer--Philip Sawyer--but
you only knew my surname, of course.'

"Jack understood it all. Even before the name was mentioned, the
slight nervous stammer, the faint peculiarity of accent, had recalled
to his memory the poor young junior master, whose short, apparently
unsuccessful, Ryeburn career had left its mark on the lives of others
besides his own.

"_Jack_ understood--not so the sick man. He was surprised and almost
bewildered b