. The night, or rather the early morning, had become very
still, but it was not silent, for deep sighs and low moanings, as of men
suffering from prolonged and weary pain, struck on his listening ear.
Now and then some wretch, unable to bear his misery, would make a
desperate effort to rise, only, however, to fall back with a sharp cry
or a deep-despairing groan. Here and there a man might be seen creeping
a few paces on his hands and knees, and then dropping to rest for a
time, after which the creeping was resumed, in the vain hope, no doubt,
that some place of shelter or an ambulance might be reached at last.
One of these struggling men passed close to Nicholas, and stopped to
rest almost at his side. In a few minutes he rose again, and attempted
to advance, but instead of doing so writhed in a hideous contortion over
on his back, and stretching himself with a convulsive shudder, died with
his teeth clenched and his protruding eyeballs glaring at the sky.

Suddenly a low sweet sound broke on Nicholas's ear. It swelled
gradually, and was at length recognised as a hymn with which he had been
familiar in childhood. Some dying Christian soldier near him had
apparently sought relief in singing praise to God. Nicholas wept as he
listened. He soon found that there were sympathetic listeners besides
himself, for the strains were taken up by one and another, and another,
until the hymn appeared to rise from all parts of the battle-field. It
was faint, however, and tremulous, for the life-blood was draining
rapidly from the hearts of those who raised it. Ere long it altogether
ceased.

For some time Nicholas had been aware that a wounded man was slowly
gasping out his life quite close to him, but, from the position in which
he lay, it was not possible to see more than his red fez. Presently the
man made a powerful effort, raised himself on one elbow, and displayed
the ghastly black countenance of Hamed Pasha. He looked unsteadily
round him for a moment, and then sank backward with a long-drawn sigh.

Close to him, under a heap of slain, Dobri Petroff himself lay. For a
long time he was unconscious, and had been nearly crushed to death by
the weight of those above him. But the life which had been so strong in
his huge body seemed to revive a little, and after a time he succeeded
in freeing himself from the load, and raising himself on his hands, but
he could not get up on his feet. A wound in the neck, which had p