"By George, that's queer!" he jerked out. "Is this really a deserted château, or isn't it? Am I alone, or are there others around?"
He paused irresolutely, fighting an impulse to turn upon his heel and make a precipitous exit from the place over which so much mystery seemed to hover.
"No, sir! I came here to stay until daylight—and stay I will!" he muttered determinedly. "Hello!"
The flash-light which he was idly directing about had suddenly lifted the form of the chair out of the darkness. It stood in an inconspicuous position, partly concealed by a handsome screen.
"Now, I'd give quite a lot to know just how it got there," he mused. "Did the same person who moved it before repeat the operation, or was it some one else? Ah, that's a question which would certainly interest Don Hale!"
Then, as his thoughts reverted to his fellow ambulancier, Chase felt such a troubled feeling coming over him that for a moment he quite cast aside his reflections concerning the peculiar travels of the innocent-looking chair. Don, he feared, was hasty and impulsive, with the rash bravery which sometimes belongs to youth. What a terrible thing it would be if anything should have happened to him!
Chase was thoroughly weary. His endurance had been tried to a greater extent than ever before in his life, and with every movement pains shot through him. Without wasting any time in cogitation or surmises, he walked over to the chair, pulled it away from the screen, and then, giving expression to a feeling of contentment, sat down.
"This has certainly been a night of contrast," he sighed. "From being in the midst of storm and battle to a luxurious seat in a fine old château is a wonderful change."
Stretching his legs out before him, Chase closed his eyes and prepared to get as much comfort as possible, though, of course, in his wet uniform and with shoes heavily caked with mud, there was not much to be had. It seemed very solemn. From outside came the rumble of the big guns; but the soft soughing of the tree tops in the breeze, a soothing, lulling sound, aided the boy in his effort to compose himself.
Soon Chase was only vaguely conscious of his surroundings. He seemed to be again going through the terrifying ordeal of the night, in the midst of a most extraordinary confusion, neither real, nor yet unreal. At length, however, as though his brain had become too weary to longer allow these thoughts to hold such a mastery over him, he fell into a peaceful doze and from that drifted into a state of profound slumber.