And then the chance, remote, but still within the realm of possibility, of reaching the front line, where men died like men.  Of all the desires he had ever known, none had gripped him like the longing for battle, where death and honour were inseparable.

But once more the thought of Mathews chilled his purpose.  It would mean penal servitude or worse for the old groom, and he was not going to be the means of ruining him for his faithfulness.  He could not stoop so low as that.

These and a hundred similar thoughts flashed through his mind, and he was no nearer their solution when the door was opened and a sergeant shouted a command.  He started.  For a second he thought that dawn might be breaking, and that his hour had arrived; but an officer came up the steps, and he saw with a quiver of relief that it was the nightly inspection.

‘Everything all right?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he answered.

‘Where’s the chaplain?’

‘He’ll be back directly, sir.’

‘Food all right—­everything possible being done for you?’

‘I have no complaints, sir.’

In the light of the lamp held by the sergeant the two men looked at each other.  Without saying anything more, the officer glanced about the hut.  ‘That will do, sergeant.—­Good-night.’

‘Good-night, sir,’ answered Durwent.

The officer had hardly reached the door, where the sergeant had preceded him with the light, when he turned back impulsively and put out his hand.  ‘I suppose this sort of thing is necessary,’ he said hoarsely; ‘but it’s a damned rotten affair altogether.’

They clasped hands; and turning on his heel, the officer left the hut.

‘Take every precaution, sergeant,’ Dick heard him say; ’and send a runner to the chaplain with my compliments.  Tell him he must not leave the prisoner.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Silence again—­and the crunching of the sentries’ heels on the sparsely sprinkled gravel.  The ordeal was becoming unbearable.  Dick feared the passing of the minutes which would bring back the chaplain, and yet every minute seemed an eternity.  The conflict ravaged his very soul.  Was he to take the chance offered him by the strangest trick of Destiny, or remain and die like a rat caught in a trap?

‘Mas’r Dick.’

The door was quietly opened.  The old groom’s hand fell on his arm and drew him firmly outwards.  He tried to pull back, but with unexpected strength the older man exerted pressure, until Dick found himself outside.

It was so dark that he could not see a yard ahead of him as Mathews, retaining his grip on his companion’s arm, led him towards the road.  They were nearly clear of the field, when the groom stopped abruptly, and they lay flat on the ground.  It was the orderly officer and the sergeant returning from the inspection of a hut some distance off.

‘Sentry.’  The officer had paused opposite the hut where the prisoner had been.