“But at last they got him, and no mistake about it. Both legs, and through the chest; past operating.
“I was with him at the end. He’d been lying very still, just groaning a bit on the quiet; when suddenly he rises up on his elbow and shouts, ‘Coming!’ clear as a bugle call. ‘Coming!’ he says, and falls back dead.”
The two stood looking at the simple white cross and the grave it marked; then turned to watch an old man, in sombre clothing, who moved among the graves, anxiously seeking. He carried in his hand a wreath of immortelles.
At last he drew near, read Luke Sparrow’s name, and, baring his head, fell upon his knees beside the cross, and sobbed.
The soldiers turned away, respecting the old man’s grief.
After a while he rose, laid the wreath at the foot of the cross, and went his way.
Luke Sparrow’s comrades came back and stooped to read what was written on a card attached to the wreath.
“Hullo!” said one, “The old chap has made a mistake. See here!”
To
Sir Nigel Guido Cardross Tintagel, Bart.,