.

Durant complied, and caught the quick gleam that shot up in the dying
eyes at his words.

"The gods were always behind time--with me," came the husky whisper. "I
used to think I'd scale Olympus, but--they kicked me down. If--if
there's any water to spare, when it's gone round, I--I----"

He broke off with a rending cough. Some one put a tin cup into the
doctor's hand, and he held it to the parched lips. Ford drank in great
gulps, and, as he drank, the worst agony passed. His limbs relaxed after
the draught, and he lay quite still, his face to the sky.

After the passage of minutes he spoke again suddenly. His voice was no
longer husky, but clear and strong. His eyes were the eyes of a man who
sees a vision.

"Jove!" he said. "What a princely gathering to see me carry out my bat!
Don't grin, you fellows. I know it was a fluke--a dashed fine fluke,
too. But it's what I always meant, after all. There's good old Monty,
yelling himself hoarse in the pavilion. And his girl--waving. Sweet
girl, too--the best in the world. I might cut him out there. But I
won't, I won't! I'm not such a hound as that, though she's the only
woman in the world, bless her, bless her!"

He stopped. Durant was bending over him, listening eagerly, as one might
listen to the voice of an old, familiar friend, heard again after many
years.

He did not speak. He seemed afraid to dispel the other's dream. But
after a moment, the man in his arms made a sudden, impulsive movement
towards him. It was almost like a gesture of affection. And their eyes
met.

There followed a brief silence that had in it something of strain. Then
Ford uttered a shaky laugh. The vision had passed.

"So--you see--he had to die--anyhow," he said. "My love to--your wife,
dear old Monty! Tell her--I'm--awfully--pleased!"

His voice ceased, yet for a moment his lips still seemed to form words.

Durant stooped lower over him, and spoke at last with a sort of urgent
tenderness.

"Leo!" he said. "Leo, old chap!"

But there came no answer save a faint, still smile. The man he called
had passed beyond his reach.

* * * * *

Relief came to the beleaguered force at daybreak, and the worst incident
of the campaign ended without disaster. A casualty list, published in
the London papers a few days later, contained an announcement, which
concerned nobody who read it, to the effect that Private Ford, of a West
African Regiment, had succumbed t