A grey morning was breaking.

The car had come to a standstill before a white gate, in front of which was stationed a British soldier, with drawn bayonet.
Surgeon-Major Thomson pulled himself together and answered the challenge.
"A friend," he answered,--"Surgeon-Major Thomson, on his Majesty's service." He leaned from the car for a moment and held out something in the hollow of his hand.

The man saluted and drew back.

The car went along a rough road which led across a great stretch of pastureland.

On the ridge of the hills on his right, little groups of men were at work unlimbering guns.