It was not yet dawn. Peter heard the moaning of the men as they awoke and turned in their bandages. Surgeon and assistants passed through; two of the latter remained to start up the malingerers. Machine and rapid-fire men especially were needed at the front, it was said. Four thousand men had fallen in the past three days, and this was to be the day of the most furious battle—Kohlvihr to drive a hole through the hills, this day. An early incident revealed certain facts—personal—and had a temporary influence upon Mowbray. The day had risen and Samarc , when a strange orderly entered the , and came to the cot where Peter sat:  
“What have you here?”
 
“A shrapnel wound in the face.”
 
The orderly looked under the cot for the uniform, as if to determine Samarc's place and rank.
 
“Where's the blouse?” he asked.
 
“It was covered with blood,” said Peter. “They took it away.”
 
“What branch of the service?”
 
Peter was not sure—infantry possibly. He didn't care for the stranger's manner, nor to have this particular gunner of the rapid-fire pieces hurried to the field unhealed. The orderly suddenly, whispering.
 
“She told me to tell you that she wants to come, but that it isn't safe—”
 
...Moritz Abel looking for an interpreter would have been interested now; also the Old Man of The States. The stranger had spoken leisurely. Peter's temptation was conquered before he was half through.
 
“Are you sure you were to give me some message?” he asked.
 
“Yes.”
 
“But I wasn't expecting anyone.”
 
The other regarded him keenly. Peter was well trained for that. An officer appeared in the and the orderly.
 
“It must have been a mistake,” the latter muttered.
 
Peter was thinking fast. The fact remained that their meeting the night before had been . He was leaving for the field shortly; the harm of suspicion would fall upon her.
 
“I promised to call a moment this morning at the house—but no one was to come for me,” he added.
 
“I have made a mistake,” the orderly repeated.
 
“...I wonder if I have?” Peter thought.
 
Samarc's hand came up to him, and the pull that meant he wanted to speak. Peter invariably paled before this . Not through words but sounds were the meanings tortured out.... Samarc meant to take the field. In the usual course there would be no coming back for him at nightfall, because he had “ceased to kill—”
 
“But must your officers know?” Peter whispered.
 
...The officers would know if it were the same old crew, because they knew Samarc's work. This was the substance of the answer.
 
“But why go?”
 
...They would take off the bandages to be sure that he required further hospital car............