All this, though so recently enacted, seemed to have left but a faint impression of its reality on Jack's mind; his one absorbing thought being that Valentine was hit, badly wounded, perhaps dying, or even dead.
A man approached, and in the darkness stumbled over one of the slumberers.
"Now, then, where are you coming to?"
"Dunno—wish I did. D'you men belong to the Blankshire? Where's your officer?"
"Can't say. Wait a minute; that's he lying by that bit of bush—Captain Hamling."
Our hero raised himself into a sitting posture. He had recognized the new-comer as a hospital orderly, and in the surrounding stillness heard him deliver his message:—
"Surgeon Gaylard sends his compliments, and would you allow one of your men named Fenleigh to come and see an officer who's badly wounded? He's some relative I think, sir."
"Very good," answered the captain drowsily; "you can find him yourself."
The orderly had no difficulty in doing that, for in a moment Jack was at his side.
"Is he dying?"