"I think I should like to see him," said Cameron. "I know his people, you see, and I would like to tell them that I saw him."

"Oh, all right," said the doctor. He called an orderly.

"Come this way, sir," said the orderly.

Together they followed the orderly into the next room, apparently a storehouse for grain. There lying upon the floor they saw three silent shapes, wrapped in grey blankets.

"This is Mcpherson, sir," said the orderly, looking at the card attached to the blanket.

He stooped, drew down the blanket from the face and stepped back. In civil life, both Barry and Cameron had seen the faces of the dead, but only in the coffin, after having been prepared for burial by those whose office it is to soften by their art death's grim austerities.

Cameron gave one swift glance at the shapeless, bloody mass, out of which stared up at him wide-open glassy eyes.

"Oh, my God, my God!" he gasped, gripping Barry by the arm, and staggering back as if he had received a blow. He turned to the door as if to make his escape, but Barry, himself white and shaken, held him firmly.

"Steady, old boy," he said. "Steady, Duncan!"

"Oh, let me go! Let me get out of here!"

"Duncan, there are a lot of wounded chaps out there."

The boy--he was only nineteen--was halted at the word, stood motionless and then muttered:

"You are right, sir. I was forgetting."

"And, Duncan, remember," said Barry, in a quiet and solemn voice, "there's more than that to McPherson. That fine young chap whom you knew and loved is not that poor and battered piece of clay. Your friend has escaped from death and all its horrors."

"Yes, yes, I know," whispered Cameron, still shaking. "We'll go out now, sir. I'll be all right. I assure you I'm all right."

They passed out into the dressing-room again, where the wounded were continuing to arrive. Cameron was for departing at once, but Barry held him back, unwilling that the lad should be driven away beaten and unnerved by what he had seen.

"I say, Duncan, let's see some of these boys. We can perhaps cheer them up a bit. They need it badly enough, God knows."

"All right," muttered Cameron, sitting down upon a bench in the shadow.

They waited there till Dr. Gregg came along.

"Hello, Dunbar, you are looking seedy. Feeling rotten, eh?" said the doctor, eying him critically for a few moments.

"Oh, I'm all right," said Barry. "The truth is, I've just been in there with young Cameron. Rather a ghastly sight. Cameron's badly knocked up.

Can you do anything for him?"

"Sure thing," said the doctor cheerfully. "Stay right there where you are. I'll bring you something in a moment or two. Now sit right there, do you hear? Don't move."

In a few moments he returned, bringing hot coffee for them both.

"There," he said in a cheerful matter-of-fact voice, "drink that."

Barry gulped it down, Cameron taking his more slowly, and with evident distaste. The doctor continued to converse with them in tones of cheerful and, as Barry thought, of almost careless indifference.

"Now, I must leave you," said the doctor. "I see there's a case of shell shock. We didn't know how to handle that for a while. The British R. A.

M. C. for some months declined to recognise it as requiring treatment at all. You might care to look at this chap. Poor devil!"

Barry had been looking at the man ever since he had come into the room, supported by two of his comrades. He was indeed an object of pity.

Of splendid physique, six feet and powerfully built, with the fine intelligent face of an educated man, he stood there white, twitching in every muscle, in a state of complete nerve-collapse.

Colonel Tait, who had been observing him keenly ever since his entering the room, now approached him, greeted him with a cheerful "Hello!" took him by the hand and felt his pulse.

"How are you, old chap? Feeling a little better than you were, aren't you?"

"Yes--doc--tor. Rather--rotten--though--Be all right--to-morrow--"

"Sure you will! Still a little rest won't do you any harm. We'll send you down for a couple of weeks, and then you will be fit enough to have another go at the boche."

So saying he turned him over to an assistant, and went on with his work.

At this point Cameron, from whose eyes the look of horror had not yet faded, leaned over to Barry and whispered:

"Let's get out of this. For Heaven's sake, this thing is getting me." He glanced at Barry. "What, are you ill, too?"

"Ill," answered Barry between his clenched teeth. "Ill? No, why should I be ill? Look at these boys. I see myself ill. By Jove!" he added under his breath, "here's another shell shock. Sit down, Cameron!" His voice took on a sterner tone. "Sit down. Don't be an ass!"

Once more Colonel Tait took in hand the shell-shock man. This second was a stretcher case. The man was very violent, requiring two men to hold him on his stretcher.

"Oh, let him go! Let him go!" said Colonel Tait. "What's wrong with you?" he said to the man. "Have you any wounds?"

"No, sir," chattered the man miserably. "Shell--shock,--sir.

Buried--twice--by a shell. Oh! Ah!"

The colonel had a few moments' conversation with Gregg, who came over to where Barry was sitting and said:

"I say, Dunbar, watch this case. You will see some fun."

"Fun," echoed Barry, shaken and indignant. "Not much fun for that poor chap."

"Stand up," said the colonel sharply.

The man stood up without much apparent difficulty.

"Ah!" said the colonel. "Shell shock. Bad case, too." His voice was kind and sympathetic. He gripped the man by the arm and ran his hand down his spine until he came to the small of his back.

"Pain there, eh?" he said, giving the man a poke.

"Yes, yes! Ouw! Doctor. Awful."

"Thought so," said the doctor. "Bad case! Poor chap! A curious feeling in the legs, eh?"

The man nodded vigorously, still twitching violently and making animal moanings.

Still pursuing his investigations and continuing to sympathise with his patient, the doctor enquired as to other symptoms, to all of which the patient promptly confessed. When the examination was completed, the doctor gave his man a hearty slap on the back and said: