The Carlisle independent., 1915-08-19
CHAPTER XIiI-Continued.

But" Sabron said aloud, it is a prayer to be said at night and not in the afternoon of an African hell"
 He began to climb; he pulled him. self along. leaving his track in blood
 He fainted twice. and the thick growth held him like the wicker of a cradle, and before he came to his con sciousness the sun was mercifully go ing down, He finally reached the top of the bank and lay there panting Not far distant were the bushes of rose and mimosa flower, and still pant ing, weaker and ever weaker, his cour- age the only living thing in him, Sab ron with Pitchoune by his side. dragged himself into healing hands.
 All that night Sabron was delirious; his mind travelled far into vague fan tastie countries, led back again, ever gently. by a tune, to safety.
 Every now and then he would real ize that he was alone on the vast desert, destined to finish his existence here, to cease being a human creature and 10 become nothing but carrion. Moments of consciousness succeeded those of mental disorder. Every now and then he would feel Pitchoune close to his arm The dog licked his hand and the touch was grateful to the deserted officer Pitchoune licked his masters cheek and Sabron felt that there was another life beside his in the wilderness. Neither dog nor man could long exist, however. with out food or drink and Sabron was growing momentarily weaker.
 The Frenchman, though a philoso- pher. realized how hard it was to die unsatisfed in love, unsatisfed in life, having accomplished nothing, having wished many things and realized at an early age only death! Then this point of view changed and the phys ical man was uppermost.
 He groaned for water, he groaned for relief from pain, turned his head from side to side, and Pitehoune whined softly. Sabron was not strong enough to speak to him, and their voices, of man and beast, inarticulate, mingled-both left to die in the open.
 Then Sabron violently rebelled and cried out in his soul against fate and destiny. He could have cursed the day he was born. Keenly desirous to live, to make his mark and to win everything man values, why should he be picked and chosen for this lone ly pathetic end? Moreover. he did not VEjG rn !, grasp on life. to go on into wilder delirium and to diei He knew enough Of injuries to feel sure that his wound alone would not kill him. When he had first dragged himself into the shade he had fainted. and when he came to himself he might have stanched his blood His wound was hardly bleeding now It had already died! Fatigue and thirst, fever would finish him, not his hurt He was too young to die.
 With great effort he raised himself on his arm and scanned the desert i stretching on all sides like a rosy. sea. i Along the river bank the pale and deli i cate blossom and leaf of the mimosa lay like bluish veil, and the smell of the evening and the smell of the mi mosa flower and the perfumes of the | weeds came to him, aromatic and sweet Above his head the blue sky was ablaze with stars and directly ] over him the evening star hung like a crystal lamp. But there was no beau i ty in it for the wounded officer who | looked in vain to the dark shadows on the desert that might mean approach ing human life. It would be better to die as he was dying, than to be found | by the enemy.
 The sea of waste rolled unbroken as far as his fading eyes could reach. l He sank back with sigh, not to rise again. and closed his eyes and waited. He slept a short, restless, feverish sleep, and in it dreams chased one an- other like those evoked by a narcotic, but out of them, over and over again came the picture of Julia Redmond. and she sang to him the song whose words were a prayer for the safety of loved one during the night.
 From that romantic melody there seemed to rise more solemn ones. He heard the rolling of the organ in the cathedral in his native town, for he came from Rouen originally. where there is one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the world The music rolled and rolled and passed over the