“What was that?” thought Marcus. “Why, I must have been asleep. Ah, there it is again!” For from somewhere out of the darkness there came a low agonised cry which made the boy sit up and listen.
“Are you there, Serge?” he said, softly.
“Yes. What is it, boy?” came from the back of the chariot, where the old soldier had seated himself; and he rose at once and crossed the few yards which lay between him and his young companion’s resting place.
“Did you hear that?” asked Marcus.
“Oh, yes, I heard it, boy.”
“What was it?”
“A wounded man. They have been carrying some in from over yonder.”
“How horrible!” whispered the boy. “Let’s go and help him.”
“No, go to sleep. You can do nothing there.”
“Sleep!” cried the boy, reproachfully. “Who can sleep with anyone suffering like that?”