He heard the explosions all around, and speculated.

Would the next be his turn?
Or the next?
Would it be painful?
What was the next world like?
And would his body be badly mangled?
The gunner had the match ready, when the lad's lips moved and a cry broke from them--a cry which astonished him as he uttered it, for he had no notion that his brain was busy with such matters.
"O! my Father, have pity on my poor soul! I have loved all men and one woman.

Give comfort to her, and have mercy on my poor soul!" As the last word dropped from his lips, a great calm fell upon him and his eyes rested quietly on the gunner's hand as the man set the lighted match to the touch-hole of the gun.
It was night when Tristram opened his eyes again.

A pale ray of moonlight slanted across his face.

His head was pillowed on something soft and warm.