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110
For Valour
died by hundreds. Still the gallant Canadians swept on. The Huns retreated. Step by step the bodies were driven back, and at sunset the hill was in the hands of the Allies.
Shrapnel still screamed over the lines, seeking unseen victims. But t h e battle w a s over ; the Allied object had been achieved. It was
now only a question of consolidating the advance.
Out in the dreaded No Man's Land between the lines Henry saw the body of a young lieutenant asprawl on the shell-torn earth. He gazed at the lifeless thing without emotion. Death had become familiar to him, and he was unmoved. But as he gazed he saw the apparently lifeless officer raise a hand to his head.
Henry sprang to action. It was courting annihilation, but he had forgotten there was such a word as "fear." Once more the miracle of the preservation of his life was repeated as he ran through the rain of explosives, lifted the wounded man onto his shoulder and dashed back to the Canadian lines.
He heard the wild cheers of his comrades as the lieutenant was borne away to the field hospital ; then a shell burst at his feet and the world was blotted out for him.
When he was able to take notice of things again he was in a country home in England that had been given over to the Red Cross. He looked up from the bed on which he was lying into the kindly eyes of a nurse.
"How much of me is left?" he asked.
Don't be afraid of me, my dear. You mustn't mind a little playfulness on my part."
"Everything except one arm," answered the nurse. "You lost that immediately after you saved an officer in the face of terrific fire. For that brave act you have been awarded the Victoria Cross."
She placed the cross in his hand, and he read the words, "For Valour," inscribed on it.
"Melia said I had the makings of a man in me," he murmured. "This proves it, I guess. Dad will be proud when I show him the V. C," and, smiling happily, his head dropped back on the pillow, and he fell asleep.
Melia had her own fight to make at home while her brother was at the front. Her father had grown more feeble, and was no longer able to do a day's work. The task of holding on to the little home devolved upon the girl, and with no raise in salary it took rigid economy to keep the wolf from the door.
To make matters worse, the theatrical manager told her that he knew who had stolen Mademoiselle Charmion's bag.
"One of the stage hands saw you," he told her. "He came to me with the story, and I shut his mouth with a bribe. That's going to be our secret, my dear — yours and mine ; and I hope we are not going to quarrel, for I can make it pretty hard for you if we do." With this threat ringing in her ears she left his office.
Then began a campaign that could have but one conclusion if she was to