gling of tiny flashes of lightning, and then the
noise and confusion of the skirmish died away--and that was all.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

COMPANIONS IN MISFORTUNE.

It was quite in keeping with his life for Fred Forrester to be awakened
by the blast of a trumpet, and, according to his habit, he made one turn
and was about to spring from his rough pallet.

But he did nothing of the kind. He let his head fall back and his arm
drop, as he uttered a groan of pain and weakness, which seemed to be
echoed from close at hand.

Then there was a peculiar dizzy feeling of sickness; mists floated
before his eyes, and, in a confused, feverish, dreamy fashion, he lay
wondering what it all meant.

After a time he felt clearer, and found himself gazing at a small square
window, unglazed, one through which a great beam of sunshine fell,
making a widening bar of light which cast a distorted image of the
opening upon a rough brick wall. That beam of light was full of tiny
motes which rose and fell and danced into the brightest part, and away
into the gloom till, as they skurried and floated here and there, it
seemed as if he were gazing at a miniature snowstorm, of which all the
flakes were gold.

There were sounds outside of trampling feet; of hoofs and the snorting
of horses; but all seemed distant and confused, as if his ears were
stopped or the sounds were coming from a distance; but directly after a
very familiar note arose--the sharp, cheery chirping of a sparrow,
followed by a low groan.

But it did not seem to matter, for he was tired and sleepy and in pain,
and he seemed to drop off to sleep and wake again wondering what it all
meant, and why it was, and how he came to be lying there.

After a time he stretched out one hand in a feeble way, to find that he
was touching straw, and that beneath the straw there were boards. But
there was straw everywhere; even the ceiling seemed to be straw, coarse
straw, till he realised that it was reed thatch, and by degrees that he
must be in the upper part of a stable--the loft, for he could smell hay;
and as he satisfied himself that he was right so far, he discovered
something more--that there were horses somewhere below, for there was a
loud snorting and the rattle of a headstall.

But still it did not seem to matter, for everything connected with the
war and his duties had passed entirely from his mind, till he heard once
more a groan from somewhere close at hand, and then