"Yes, Nancy," he said aloud, "I've found my mission; I am going in for war—war against war; that is the noblest work a man can do."
It was all very unreal; all far, far away. "The night is falling fast; how can Nancy and I get home?" he reflected. Then he heard some one singing close by him; it was the song popular amongst the soldiers—a song in which he himself had joined a hundred times:
"It's a long way to Tipperary,
It's a long, long way to go."
He turned his head, and saw a soldier at his side. He too, had been stricken down in the battle; he, too was unconscious of what he was doing.
"Yes, it's a long, long way to Tipperary," he murmured, and that was all, . . . a great darkness fell upon him.
CHAPTER XXI
When Bob awoke to consciousness again, the scene was altogether unfamiliar to him; he was lying in a big barn-like building, while around him were scores of beds, on each of which lay a wounded man.
He felt weak and languid; but this he would not have minded, it was the awful pain just below his neck that troubled him—a gnawing, maddening pain.
He lifted his hand to try and touch the spot; but this he could not do—it seemed to him as though he caused a fire inside it as he moved.
"I'm not dead, anyhow," he reflected. "What is this, I wonder?"