"Wednesday, sir."
"Is it to-morrow?"
"Yes, sir."
The life faded out of his blue eyes.
Till that moment he had been hugging the comfortable belief that Time, the soldier's best ally and worst enemy, was on his side. Sooner or later relief must come. Cosy in their tiny fortress, they could afford to wait for it. The Gentleman could not. Now for the first time the Parson learned that his anticipated ally was his foeman's.
"Talk of Knapp!—I'm the one ought to be shot."
"How soon shall we be relieved, sir?" asked the boy feverishly at his side. "When may we expect the soldiers?"
The words revived the Parson like a whip-lash. Knapp, a soldier, had betrayed his trust. He, a soldier, had let slip thirty golden hours. He was bitterly jealous for his dear Service.
"We shan't be relieved," he snarled. "How can the soldiers relieve us when they don't know we want relief? Knapp didn't get through—told you so already once."
"But the country-folk, sir! Surely they'll report."