spirit had passed to the Great Beyond.

Back in his observation station Major Seymour an hour later viewed the
gathering darkness with satisfaction. Two hours more and it would be
difficult to see a hand before one's face. Undoubtedly the sorely needed
ammunition and reserves would reach the trenches in time, and the wounded
could be safely transferred to the base hospital. The Allies' line had
held, and in spite of their desperate assaults the Germans had been
unable to find a vulnerable spot.

Seymour passed his hand over his eyes. Against the darkness his fevered
imagination pictured advancing "gray phantoms." "They come like demons
from the hell they have created," he muttered. "I hope to God they
don't use 'starlights' over our trenches tonight. Flesh and blood can
stand no more."

The darkness grew denser and more dense. In the long battle front of the
Allies no sentinel saw a powerful Aviatik biplane glide over the trenches
and fly onward toward its goal. Several times the airman inspected his
phosphorescent compass and map, each time thereafter altering his course.
Finally, making a sign to his observer, he planed to a lower level and,
satisfied that he had reached the proper distance, a bomb was released.

Down through the black void the infernal machine sped. A sickening
pause--then a deafening detonation, followed by another and another, cut
the stillness, and the earth beneath was aflame with light as the high
explosives and shells stored in the concealed ammunition depot were set
off. Nothing escaped destruction; flesh and blood, mortar and brick went
skyward together, and a great gash in the earth was all that was left to
tell the story of the enemy's successful raid.