"He has fallen into the enemy's hands," said Captain Travers; "a rescue was impossible, as we knew not the extent of the ambush into which we fell. I saw him riding after us, with Berkeley——"
"Aw—yes, colonel—we were covering the rear of the squadron, in fact," interrupted that personage.
"Suddenly there was heard a single shot, and on looking back, I saw Berkeley galloping on alone——"
"Alone!"
"And poor Norcliff in the hands of the Russians, who were cutting him to pieces apparently."
"His horse had been shot under him?" said the colonel.
"Yes—but—aw—not by the Russians," said Berkeley.
"By whom, then?" asked the colonel, sharply.
"By himself," was the unhesitating response.
"Himself?"