ned back, and drew
up the foot to take off the spur. As he did so, he felt a sudden twitch
at his side, and Barre swayed in his saddle with a spear in the groin.
Shorland caught him and prevented him falling to the ground. A wild cry
rose from the jungle behind and from the clearing ahead, and in a moment
the infuriated French soldiers were in the thick of a hand-to-hand fray
under a rain of spears and clubs. The spear that had struck Barre would
have struck Shorland had he not bent backward when he did. As it was the
weapon had torn a piece of cloth from his coat.

A moment, and the wounded man was lifted to the ground. The surgeon
shook his head in sad negation. Death already blanched the young
officer's face. Shorland looked into the misty eyes with a sadness
only known to those who can gauge the regard of men who suffer for each
other. Four days ago this gallant young officer had taken risk for him,
had saved him from injury, perhaps death; to-day the spear meant for
him had stricken down this same young officer, never to rise again. The
vicarious sacrifice seemed none the less noble to the Englishman because
it was involuntary and an accident. The only point clear in his mind
was that had he not leant back, Barre would be the whole man and he the
wounded one.

"How goes it, my friend?" said Shorland, bending over him.

Alencon Barre looked up, agony twitching his nostrils and a dry white
line on his lips. "Ah, mon camarade," he answered huskily, "it is in
action--that is much; it is for France, that is more to me--everything.
They would not let me serve France in Paris, but I die for her in New
Caledonia. I have lived six-and-twenty years. I have loved the world.
Many men have been kind, and once there was a woman--and I shall see her
soon, quite soon. It is strange. The eyes will become blind, and then
they will open, and--ah!" His fingers closed convulsively on those of
Blake Shorland. When the ghastly tremor, the deadly corrosions of the
poisoned spear passed he said: "So--so! It is the end. C'est bien, c'est
bien!"

All round them the fight raged, and French soldiers were repeating
English bravery in the Soudan.

"It is not against a great enemy, but it is good," said the wounded man
as he heard the conquering cries of a handful of soldiers punishing ten
times their numbers. "You remember Prince Eugene and the assegais?"

"I remember."

"Our Houses were enemies, but we were friends, he and I. And so, an