"And maybe we have, at yet another point. This isn't much like the war
we've read about, is it, Scott? A great battlefield, vast batteries
blazing, long lines of infantry in brilliant uniforms advancing, twenty
thousand cavalry charging at the gallop the earth reeling under the
hoofs of their horses!"

"No, it's just murder in the dark."

[Illustration: "Once they came to the very edge of the trench to be
slain there"]

"But a black night would oppress me less than the ghastly whitish
glare of the snow. I can't see a thing out there, Scott, but those low
sounds I hear appall me."

The wind and the fall of snow alike were increasing in violence. The
great flakes poured in a feathery storm into the trench, and, before
them, all things were hidden. John knew, too, that it was covering the
many dead in their front with a blanket of white and that the wounded
who were unable to crawl back would probably lie frozen beneath it in
the morning. Once more that shiver of horror and utter repulsion seized
him. Despite himself, he could not control it, and he merely remained
quiet until his nerves became steady again.

But a low moaning just beyond the trench held his attention. It did not
seem to him that it was more than a dozen feet away, and he felt a great
sympathy and pity. He did not doubt that some German boy hurt terribly
lay almost within reach of his arm. He moved once in order that he might
not hear the dreadful sound, but an irresistible attraction drew him