“This,” he said, pressing their hands in a still strong grip, “is the end. I wish that I could have lived to see the outcome of this war.”
“There can be but one outcome,” replied Chester softly. “You may rest assured of that.”
“True,” said the giant, “but I would like to have seen my old home again.”
The lads were silent. Finally Hal spoke.
“To think,” he said, “that we are responsible for your fate; but for us you would have remained with the army and have lived to the end of the war. We are to blame.”
“Sh-h-h,” whispered the dying giant. The hand which held Chester’s freed itself and groped in his pocket. “But for you lads,” he continued, “I should never have won this.”
He pulled from his pocket the Cross of St. George, pinned to his breast by the Russian emperor, and gazed at it lovingly.
“It is well worth the sacrifice,” he said.
Still holding the medal his hand again sought Chester’s and pressed it. His other hand still gripped Hal’s.
“Good-by, boys,” he said firmly. “Let the Grand Duke know.”