There was a general assent.
It was a gallant deed, that desperate dash to rejoin the division, though accomplished at a terrible cost. Miles, leading the forlorn hope, was soon to pay the price of his daring. They were all but through when he fell, shot by a chance bullet.
An hour later his battered troops came up with the British forces. Three or four stragglers dropped into camp as the serjeant major was making his report.
"Ah!" said the colonel, expressively—"you got through?"
"Yes, sir, beastly hard work, too."
"Who brought you?"
"Lieutenant Weyburne, sir."
"I thought so. He's the kind of fellow for that sort of thing. Is he in?"
"He was shot, sir."
"Shot, poor boy. What will Alleson say?"