“Report yourself to Sergeant Black, Morgan: I shan’t want you any more.”
He turned for a second to give his orderly a ghost of a smile, and then, placing his arms on the parapet, watched what was happening to the mountains and the sky. His large eyes glistened.
“Oh, how beautiful! How very beautiful!” he exclaimed aloud, as he gazed at the violet mist at the feet of the Belashitza Mountains. “I do wish father was here.... I do wish father....”
“Hello, Latimer! How goes it?”
The boy turned round: his company commander was standing behind him, looking at him curiously.
“You see how it is, sir,” said Latimer, gravely, “When night goes....”
His eyes quickly became dilated, and he swayed a little.
“You’re ill, laddie. Come back to Headquarters with me.”
“Fever—just fever. People have been playing tennis in my head all night. And Morgan’s killed. I wish I was dead myself.”
His lips trembled and a dry sob shook his shoulders.