" thought Marcus. "Why, I must have been asleep. Ah,
there it is again!" For from somewhere out of the darkness there came a
low agonised cry which made the boy sit up and listen.

"Are you there, Serge?" he said, softly.

"Yes. What is it, boy?" came from the back of the chariot, where the
old soldier had seated himself; and he rose at once and crossed the few
yards which lay between him and his young companion's resting place.

"Did you hear that?" asked Marcus.

"Oh, yes, I heard it, boy."

"What was it?"

"A wounded man. They have been carrying some in from over yonder."

"How horrible!" whispered the boy. "Let's go and help him."

"No, go to sleep. You can do nothing there."

"Sleep!" cried the boy, reproachfully. "Who can sleep with anyone
suffering like that?"

"You," said Serge, quietly. "You have been asleep an hour, and of
course there have been plenty of poor fellows carried by, enemies and
friends."

"But--" began Marcus.

"Go to sleep again, boy. You can do nothing there. We'd go together if
we could help."

Marcus was silent as he lay resting on one hand, listening and thinking
what it was his duty to do, but listening in vain, for no such sound
again broke the silence of the night, while after standing by him a few
minutes, Serge walked away into the darkness and then returned to his
seat in the chariot, where he too, utterly devoid of all inclination to
sleep, sat and thought about their position there and asked himself
whether it was yet too late to reverse their plans, and seeking the
first opportunity to hurry his young companion away from the scenes of
carnage and the dangers by which they were surrounded.

"I have done wrong all along," he muttered to himself. "I went against
my orders, and some day I shall have to face the master and answer for
myself. Yes," he muttered, "I must take him back." And with the full
intention, as he sat there leaning his left shoulder against the side of
the chariot, of leaving the little rear-guard of the army as soon as he
could, Serge changed his position to the other side of the chariot to
rest his right side, and as he subsided against the hard iron-bound
wood, listening for danger, the galloping-in of scouts, or some other
warning of another night attack, a fresh current of thoughts began to
chase each other through his brain.

"No," he said, "I won't go, and if I would he'd say again that he
wouldn't come. He's a soldier's son,