on him with both feet as I had been wont to do when fighting my
fellow-slaves in some lazarette; then, seeing he stirred no more,
I left him, doubting nothing I had done his business. Yet as I
went I felt myself shiver, for though I had been compelled to
fight the naked wretches who had been my fellow-slaves, I had
killed no man as yet.

Thus as I went, chancing to stumble against a tree, I leaned
there awhile; and now remembering those two blows under the
armpit, what with this stabbing and my fall and lack of food, for
I had eaten but once that day, I grew faint and sick. But as I
leaned there, out of the gloom came a hand that fumbled timidly
my bowed head, my arm, my hand.

"Sir--are you hurt?" questioned a voice, and here once again I
was struck by the strange, vital quality of this voice, its bell-
like depth and sweetness.

"No whit!" says I. Now as I spoke it chanced she touched the
knife in my grasp and I felt her shiver a little.

"Did you--O sir--did you--kill him?"

"And wherefore no?" I questioned. "And why call me 'sir'?"

"You do speak as one of gentle birth."

"And go like the beggar I am--in rags. I am no 'sir.'"

"How may I call you?"