"Lie still. Somebody's coming. The troop is not far off.
You'll soon have help and home and--Angela"--even then his tongue
faltered at her name. And Wren heard and with eager eyes questioned
imploringly. The quivering lips repeated huskily the name of the child
he loved. "Angela--where?"
"Home--safe--where you shall be soon, old fellow, only--brace up now.
I must speak one moment with Carmody," and to Carmody eagerly he
turned. "You were speaking of Elise and the fire--of Downs, sergeant
----" His words were slow and clear and distinct, for the soldier had
drifted far away and must be recalled. "Tell me again. What was it?"
But only faint, swift gasping answered him. Carmody either heard not,
or, hearing, was already past all possibility of reply. "Speak to me,
Carmody. Tell me what I can do for you?" he repeated. "What word to
Elise?" He thought the name might rouse him, and it did. A feeble hand
was uplifted, just an inch or two. The eyelids slowly fluttered, and
the dim, almost lifeless eyes looked pathetically up into those of the
young commander. There was a moment of almost breathless silence,
broken only by a faint moan from Wren's tortured lips and the childish
whimpering of that other--the half-crazed, terror-stricken soldier.
"Elise," came the whisper, barely audible, as Carmody strove to lift his
head, "she--promised"--but the head sank back on Blakely's knee.
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