“Oh, but surely he wouldn’t have done such a thing as that, Ben!”
“So I say, sir. If he did, it’s quite time he was taken over to the church, and buried, for he must be out of his wits.”
“Oh, impossible! He couldn’t have done it. Are you sure it was cut?”
“Well, sir, you see the end.”
“It must have been frayed by rubbing against the edge of the parapet.”
“Didn’t look like it sir; that’s all that I can say.”
“Has any one else been here?”
“Not as I know of, sir; but we’ve been too busy to see, keeping our faces to the enemy. I thought I heard some one run down.”
“Well, it was an unfortunate accident, Ben; but you’ve soon repaired it,” said Roy. And he stepped out on to the platform to look aloft at the flag, which was once more fluttering and flapping in the breeze; and then he stepped upon a stone to gaze over towards the enemy’s battery to see if the lowering of the flag had had any effect there.
But all was quiet. They had evidently ceased firing for the evening, and the shades of night were descending so quickly, that the figures in the rear of the earthwork were beginning to look dim and indistinct. Away to the right, though, was a shadowy body which seemed to be moving along towards where the enemy’s camp lay, behind the wooded patch of country; and Roy was not long in coming to the conclusion that it was a troop of horse, returning from the neighbourhood of the battery.