dressing;" he went on. "I don't
want to be 'potted' needlessly!"

He tried to see into the Park, but the great masses of trees that
undulated like a rough sea, prevented him from seeing anything. There
were figures at the gate ... on guard!

"I wonder if that little red-haired man's still there," he thought.
"Poor devils! Some of them must feel damned queer to-night!..."

He closed the shutters, and switched the light on, and then, when he had
undressed he darkened the room again. "I must have some air," he said,
opening the shutters.

He climbed into bed. Now and then a rifle-shot was fired, and sometimes
there was a succession of shots....

"In the morning," he said, as he turned on his side and closed his eyes,
"they'll be cleared out of that!..."

THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER

1

He awoke suddenly, and sat up in bed. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed, "I've
been asleep!" It was still dark, but less dark than it was when he came
to bed. He could just see the time by holding his watch close to his
eyes. "Four," he murmured. It was strange that he should have slept at
all, for there had been spasmodic firing all night. He got out of bed,
and went across his room to the window, and looked out, and as he
looked, the wounded horse struggled to rise, pawing the ground feebly,
and then fell over on its side. "It isn't dead!..." When he had looked
at it last, it had been lying very still, and he had thought it was
dead.

He looked across the road to the Park gates, but could not see any one
standing there. "Perhaps they've gone!" There was a shapeless thing
lying on the ground, outside the gates, but he could not make out what
it was. In the dim light, it looked like a great piece of paper ... the
debris of a windy day.

There was no movement anywhere ... the horse was still now ... but now
and then a single shot rang out, and then came a volley. "You'd think
they were just trying to make a noise! I wonder what's been happening
all night," he said, as he went back to bed.

2

He fell asleep again, and when he awoke, wakened by a heavier sound of
shooting, it was almost six o'clock, and it was light. "That must be the
soldiers," he thought, listening to the heavier rifle fire. He sat up
in bed, and glanced about the room. "I _was_ an ass not to keep the
shutters closed," he said aloud. "A stray bullet might have come in here
... I wonder whether the shutters would stop a bullet. After all, Bibles
do!..."

He co