’. . .  I’m obleeged to ye, Wullie, but ye shouldna ha’e done it.  Whauraboots are we?’

’I wisht I was sure.  Lost ma bearin’s.  I doobt we’re nearer the Germans nor oor ain lot.  That’s the reason I’m weerin’ this dish-cover.  But it’s your turn to weer it.  Ye’ve been wounded a’ready.’

‘Na, na, Wullie!’

‘Dae what I tell ye, ye ——!’ Willie made the exchange of headgear. . . .  ‘I say, Macgreegor!’

‘What?’

’This is Flanders.  Ye mind oor bet?  Weel, we’re quits noo.  I’m no owin’ ye onything—­eh?’

Macgregor grinned in spite of everything.  ’Ay, we’re quits noo, Wullie, sure enough.’

‘If ever we get oot o’ this, will ye len’ us dew francs?’

‘’Deed, ay. . . .  Wullie, ye’re riskin’ yer life for me.’

‘Awa’ an’ chase yersel’!  I wonder what that girl o’ yours is thinkin’ aboot the noo—­if she’s no sleepin’.’

There was a pause till Macgregor said awkwardly:  ’Christina’s finished wi’ me.’

‘Eh?’

‘I couldna tell ye afore; but she had got wind o’ Maggie.’

’Maggie!  Oh, hell!  But no frae me, Macgreegor, no frae me!  Ye believe that?’

‘Oh, ay.’

Willie let off sundry curses.  ‘But I suppose I’m to blame,’ he said bitterly.

‘Naebody to blame but masel’.’

‘But did ye no explain to Christina?  A’ ye did was to canoodle wi’ the wrang girl, pro tem.—­a thing that happens daily.  I couldna fancy a girl that naebody had ever wanted to cuddle; an’ if I was a girl I couldna fancy a chap that——­’

‘Nae use talkin’ aboot it, Wullie,’ Macgregor said sadly, wearily.

‘Aw, but her an’ you ‘ll mak’ it up afore ye’re done.  If ye dinna, I’ll want to kill masel’ an’ Maggie forbye.  A’ the same, I wisht fat Maggie was here the noo.  I could dae fine wi’ a bit squeeze.’

‘My! ye’re a fair treat!’ said Macgregor, chuckling in his misery.

‘’Sh!  Keep still!  Something comin’!’

The distant gun-fire had diminished.  There were appreciable silences between the blasts.  But during a flash Macgregor detected a helmeted crawling shape.  Willie’s hand stole out and grasped the bayonet.

‘Number twa!’ he muttered, with a stealthy movement.  ’I maun get him!’

But Macgregor’s ears caught a faint sound that caused him to grip the other’s wrist.

‘Wait,’ he whispered.

The helmeted shape came on, looking neither to right nor left, and as it came it sobbed.  And it passed within a few yards of them, and into the deeper gloom, sobbing, sobbing.

‘Oh, Christ!’ sighed Willie, shuddering.

‘Put yer arm roun’ me, Mac.  I’m feart.’

Five minutes later he affected to jeer at himself.  ’Weel, I’m rested noo,’ he continued, ‘an’ it’s time we was gettin’ a move on.  Mornin’s comin’, an’ if we’re spotted here, we’re done for.  Can ye creep?’