‘I’m finished. Le’ me in peace, for God’s sake. You can’t…’

‘A’ll not leave thee,’ said Weeper in an infuriate rage.

He felt Bourne stretch himself in a convulsive shudder, and relax, becoming suddenly heavier in his arms. He struggled on, stumbling over the shell-ploughed ground through that fantastic mist, which moved like an army of wraiths, hurrying away from him. Then he stopped, and, taking the body by the waist with his left arm, flung it over his shoulder, steadying it with his right. He could see their wire now, and presently he was challenged, and replied. He found the way through the wire, and staggered into the trench with his burden. Then he turned down the short stretch of Delaunay to Monk Trench, and came on the rest of the party outside A Company’s dug-out.

‘A’ve brought ’im back,’ he cried desperately, and collapsed with the body on the duck-boards. Picking himself up again, he told his story incoherently, mixed with raving curses.

‘What are you gibbering about?’ said Sergeant Morgan. ‘’aven’t you ever seen a dead man before?’

Sergeant-Major Tozer, who was standing outside the dug-out, looked at Morgan with a dangerous eye. Then he put a hand on Weeper’s shoulder.

‘Go down an’ get some ’ot tea and rum, ol’ man. That’ll do you good. I’d like to ’ave a talk with you when you’re feelin’ better.’

‘We had better move on, Sergeant,’ said Mr Cross, quietly.

‘Very good, sir.’

The party moved off, and for a moment Sergeant-Major Tozer was alone in the trench with Sergeant Morgan.

‘I saw him this side of their wire, Sergeant-Major, and thought everything would be all right, ’pon my word, I would ’ave gone back for ’im myself, if I’d known.’

‘It was hard luck,’ said Sergeant-Major Tozer with a quiet fatalism.

Sergeant Morgan left him; and the sergeant-major looked at the dead body propped against the side of the trench. He would have to have it moved; it wasn’t a pleasant sight, and he bared his teeth in the pitiful repulsion with which it filled him. Bourne was sitting: his head back, his face plastered with mud, and blood drying thickly about his mouth and chin, while the glazed eyes stared up at the moon. Tozer moved away, with a quiet acceptance of the fact. It was finished. He was sorry about Bourne, he thought, more sorry than he could say. He was a queer chap, he said to himself, as he felt for the dug-out steps. There was a bit of a mystery about him; but then, when you come to think of it, there’s a bit of a mystery about all of us. He pushed aside the blanket screening the entrance, and in the murky light he saw all the men lift their faces, and look at him with patient, almost animal eyes.

Then they all bowed over their own thoughts again, listening to the shells bumping heavily outside, as Fritz began to send a lot of stuff over in retaliation for the raid. They sat there silently; each man keeping his own secret.