The moon rose calmly in the sky, and her soft rays fell upon the trees beneath which Hubert lay. He was still insensible, and the brown grass around him was stained with blood. A slight breath of wind that passed over him, gently waved the dark hair from his wounded forehead; another ball had shattered his right leg, which had bent up beneath him as he fell.
Not far away, in the barracks, the next morning the roll was called; Hubert's companions had arrived safe during the night; they now told where they had missed him, and a piquet of men was sent out to search for him. They did not go far into the jungle before Hubert was found; he had partly recovered from his faintness, but was too exhausted to speak: they conveyed him to the hospital, where his wounds were dressed, and every attention was paid him, but he had lost so much blood as he lay all night upon the ground, that no hopes whatever were given of his recovery, and he lay several days without speaking a word.
The doctor came day after day, as often as he could snatch a moment from his duties, and sat down by Hubert's bed: he knew all about him, knew the life he had led, and felt all the weight of the dread thought of a soul passing into eternity unsaved. There he lay, that reckless, sinning one, now helpless, dying, and many a heartfelt prayer was breathed by the one friend that still clung to him, that he might not be taken away in his sin. It is not kith nor kin that bounds the Christian's love; like his Divine Master, he deems precious every human soul, and no matter 'neath what sky or colour, whether friend or foe, he cannot see that priceless thing perish without an effort to save it. Many a long hour the doctor sat and watched by Hubert's bed: the leg had been set, and appeared favourable, but reason did not return, and it was for that he watched and prayed, and yet how that same reason had shunned and insulted him. Good man, he forgot all about himself now, and watched as a fond brother over the sufferer. His prayers were heard; Hubert awoke from insensibility, and occasionally spoke a word to those who attended him.
CHAPTER VI.
THE TIME FOR REFLECTION.
O, lost and found! All gentle souls below
Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove
Such joy o'er thee as raptured seraphs know,
Who learn their lesson at the throne of love.—Keble.
A week had passed. Hubert was slightly better, and there was a faint hope that he would ultimately recover. The doctor had been two or three times during each day to see him, and now, as the sun was setting, he came again. Weary as he was with his usual duties, he had still his Master's work to do, and as he took his seat by Hubert's bed he asked if he should read to him. Hubert knew quite well that the doctor's book was the Bible, and though he also knew that but very faint hopes were given of his recovery, he replied, "No, thank you; I shall perhaps soon be better, when I shall have plenty of time to read." The doctor tried to prevail, but Hubert resisted, until he became excited, when his friend, wishing him a good night, left him alone.
"Yes, I hope soon to be better," he repeated to himself, as the doctor left the room, though, as he gazed at the three empty beds near him, he little thought that the insensibility to all pain which occasionally stole over him, rendered the hope of his recovery very faint, and that unless a change took place his couch would soon be empty also.
Another and another day passed. Hubert was no better; and as the doctor again sat down beside him, he said, as he gently took the feverish hand, "My friend, perhaps you would like some one to send a letter to your friends in England; is there anything you would like to say? Shall I write for you?"