—
The battle was finished. On the field lay the wounded and dying. The night was fast closing in to add its darkness to the horror and the gloom of it all.
Most of the prostrate forms were quiet in death, but many were moaning piteously.
"Is there no help near?" asked one of them. "Water! Oh, for a drink!"
Hallock felt for his flask. It was empty.
"No," returned Hallock. "No help yet."
"Comrades," he cried, raising his voice as high as his feeble condition would allow—"we are all soon to go to that other shore from which no man returns. Let us go gladly, heroically—like soldiers, not like cowards caught in the jaws of death. Remember! We are entering a glorious life!"
With the last words he fell back and the blackness of night settled over the battlefield.
A bright shaft of light suddenly shone high above Hallock's head. It drew nearer and nearer, until it dazzled him with its brilliancy.
With a thrill of unearthly joy Hallock beheld, approaching through the wondrous light, Venna! His glorified Venna!