was the cry, as a troop of Belgian cavalry, followed by the baggagewagons, tore past as if the enemy was at their heels.

Hetty could bear it no longer. She arose and dressed herself, and in the cold light of the morning went down to the little salon below.

Her father was seated in the heavy fauteuil fast asleep. His boots were covered with dust and mud, and his hands were hanging listlessly down. She did not disturb him, but opened one of the windows and looked out on to the hill. It was quite deserted now. Wearily she passed her hand over her forehead and looked up at the sky, over which the clouds were floating. Then she sat down, leaving the window still open, and watched her father, who was sitting opposite to her. At length he moved in his chair and raised his eyelids. He saw

her at once.

'Well, my dear,' he said, with a tired smile, followed by a yawn, 'it is all right. The dear lad is well; and the Frenchmen will not be very likely to be in Brussels as yet.'

"They cried out that the French were here,' answered Hetty, in a faint voice, 'or I thought so.'

'No, the Duke has had the best of it. I saw young Jarvis as I crossed the Place. He had come in with some further despatches. The men, he said, had fought like heroes; and he had seen young Jack last night, not like a hero, but sitting on a bucket, eating cold pie;' and the Colonel smiled, and then added seriously, 'we have much to be thankful for, little one; much, indeed.'

The father saw his daughter half close her eyes, and her lips moved feebly. Wan and pale her Wan and pale her face looked. He gave a deep sigh, then went to the tawdry Louis Quinze cabinet, and filled a

glass with wine, and brought it to her.

'Cheer up, little girl,' he said; 'there is no need for fear. I have none now of what the end will be, no matter what others say.' 'But Jack ?'

rest.

'Wait till the worst does come to the worst. His chance is as good as, and may be better than, the But who do you think has come back already? You do not seem to care to know. Well, Harry Hedley. Harry Hedley. He is wounded, but not badly, and is now at a little cottage outside the Coimbre. He would not be brought here, nor yet to the D'Arenberg-why, I know not. He saw Jack at the commencement of the fight, but not at the end. Poor fellow! we must go to see him after breakfast. I have been with him almost till now; but I should like a few more winks of sleep. It is not five o'clock yet. We must go and cheer up young Harry, though; for I promised him to return.'

Then the Colonel left her, and Hetty sat down and tried to read. She took up a romance of Madame de Staël; but her mind wandered away from the maudlin sentiment of the unhealthy flabby heroes and heroines. There was little sympathy between the war of the giants over the distant forest and the battles of drawing-room intrigue.

She put the book down with a sigh, and turned to the window. The market-carts were coming down the hill. Now and again she would turn her eyes away, as one vehicle, bearing no load of sweet - scented greenstuff, but moving at a slow funereal pace, went by, while a groan or cry of anguish as the cart jolted over the stones would rise to the window, and cause a faint shiver to pass through her. The crop of wounded and dying was coming in with that which had been gathered from the

fields which here and there crept in on to the forest of the dark Soignies.

But when the Colonel appeared with fresh cheerful face, something like a feeling of calmness and security came over her, as he lightly patted her head and kissed her and wished her good-morning.

'Come to breakfast,' he said; ' and, what is more, eat something. There is no good letting yourself run down, and Major Dugald Dalgetty's advice about a good breakfast is the most sensible that was ever given.'

From the windows of the little dining-room they looked out on to a small garden, almost surrounded by the white walls of neighbouring houses. And these walls were ornamented with a green trellis, in which a few roses lived a straggling weedy existence. Yet the air was fresh, and the sight and scent of the few flowers in the parterres were somewhat refreshing.

Youth, with the heaviest stock of sorrows, seldom loses all its appetite, and Miss Hetty did manage to get through a cutlet, while her father looked on approvingly, and smiled and nodded.

'We will go and see Harry,' he said, after the meal was over; 'the walk will do you good, and you will be able to play the good Samaritan as well. We had better take some fruit with us; he will be sure to be feverish and thirsty.'

They walked across the Royale to the straight road, which is now turned into the grandest of boulevards. People were standing by the roadside watching the carts piled with wounded coming in.

'If I had known it had been like this, Hetty,' said her father, 'I would not have brought you out.'

'It is better than staying in by myself. My thoughts are not good company to-day, father dear.'

In a little time they were walk

ing through the wood. What a sombre melancholy scene it was ! The ambulance-wagons and the carts slowly filing by, the dark recesses of the wood filled with gray shadows, the dull clouds overhead, then the sound of the distant firing rumbling through the heavy air.

'It is like Dante's wood, father,' said Hetty, with a sigh.

'Only that we need not leave all hope behind anywhere,' was

the answer.

When they had walked some distance, and had come to where the road dipped down into a little valley, they could hear the sounds of the fight with still greater distinctness.

'They are not pounding their hardest as yet. But do not you trouble yourself about the noise, Hetty. It is often the most cry the least wool, even in a great fight. But there is Master Harry's cottage down there.'

The little white cottage stood in a small clearing cut out of the wood. There was a tiny pond beside, and some ducks were flapping their wings and quacking, and hugely enjoying the dirty water. A woman was standing with a pan under her arm, from which she was throwing them some scraps of food. The air was fragrant with the scent of burning wood, for the charcoal-burners were busy at work near by. ragged-looking horse was calmly browsing on the short grass, and a little blue-eyed boy was playing at beating him with a stick.

A

'How peaceful it is!' said Hetty. 'O, that that dreadful noise would leave off, if only for a few minutes!'

'And how is monsieur the wounded ?' asked the Colonel of the peasant woman, with a friendly bow and in the best French that he could call together.

'Monsieur left soon after sun

AT the sound of the cannon a shiver seemed to pass through Jack's body. Yet it was no sensation of cowardice. It was the kind of reaction which comes when a long-expected event has at length arrived. The regiment was again on the march, and he turned round and looked about him. They were marching up a little hill, which had a few straggling cottages on the right side. When these were passed they were between great fields of wheat, which rose so high that Jack wanted all his height to see over the corn the distant villages nestling in the clumps of trees. The men and lads in his company were marching firmly on with steady steps and compressed brows. They did not fear what was coming with any faint-hearted tremor; but they knew the danger, and were sternly resolved to meet it. He looked then at their faces, which were grimed with the dust of the roads. They had had a march of twenty miles in a burning sun, which, if now

and again obscured by the clouds, only seemed all the hotter when it reappeared, and poured its heat down upon the long line of red-coats, and on the great waving plains of wheat which enclosed them. At one time they passed by the doorway of a little roadside estaminet. The door was wide open, and the place was quite deserted. Jack could catch a glimpse of the brass crucifix nailed to the wall, of the few poor coloured prints, the blackbricked floor, and the rough chairs. A little white kitten came out and stood in the doorway, and some of them laughed and called to it. But still the thunder of the cannon came from over the rising ground in front of them.

Far ahead, away to the right and left, Jack saw the smoke rising from the ground and hanging over the fields like a great pall, and now, for the first time, appeared a dreary sign of the coming fight. Seated on the ground, with his back against the wall of a wretched cottage, was a little stumpy fellow, wearing the blue coat of the Netherlanders. His head was bound round with a coloured handkerchief. His shako had fallen off, and the sun was pouring down upon him. He neither moved nor opened his eyes as the regiment filed before him.

'I wonder if he is dead or alive?' thought Jack. 'I wonder if I shall look as green and pale as that before the day's over?'

But now, even above the roar of the cannon and the rattle of the musketry, they could hear, coming near to them, a sound of shouting, and the noise of many feet on the stone road. A host of little Netherlanders was rushing towards them, and tore past them, all having thrown away their arms, and most of them quite pale with fright. When these had left them, on the road to Genappe, a few

wounded came limping past—some in the red coats of the line, some wearing the dark kilts of the Black Watch. Then the regiment wheeled to the road to the left, and, forming into column, marched through the heavy crops. Through the openings in the smoke, which clung to the thick crops of rye, Jack could see away to the right the darkgreen mass of a close wood. Between that and himself he caught a glimpse of a battalion of Dutchmen; while coming from the great cloud of smoke in front were a few Highlanders, staggering to the rear under the pain of their wounds. The great triangular patch of rye which lay between the Namur and Charleroi roads had been all trampled down, but it was not dry enough yet to catch fire. The regiment now crossed the great ditch which flanked the Namur road, and took up its position at once.

To do Jack Hedley credit, he always persisted in telling the story of Quatre Bras his own way.

'A man only knows as much about a battle as he can see,' so he would say, whenever any one got him on to the subject, which was not often, as he was no great hand at relating the glories of his own exploits. Still he remembered how, when they had marched into the corn, he could see the regiment close beside them, looking like a great red square patch in the dark green of the crops. This regiment was late on the field, but the skirmishers of the others were running in from the enemy in front. Jack listened to the din going on around. Then a tremendous sound of shouting made itself heard even over the thunder of the gun-fire. A big man, with coarse harsh features, and with a slovenly put-on uniform, was riding down the front of the brigade. He was looking at them all with a bright cheery glance; and his eyes

flashed and his cheek was flushed with the heat and the strong excitement.

It was General Picton.

Bachelio on the right, and Foy close by the wood of Bossu, were bringing forward their heavy columns from behind the farm of Gemioncourt, covered by their guns, and followed by the cavalry of Piré.

Jack was looking at the General, who was close by, and whose horse was placidly pawing the troddendown crop.

'We sha'n't wait for them,' he heard him say, as he waved his hand to one of his aides.

Coming through the smoke he could see the French advancing in broken order. Then the welcome word to charge came, and with levelled guns and close ranks the -2d swept over the field.

What happened then, from the fierce excitement of the moment, Jack could never clearly remember. That once, twice, thrice, some one came against him, and that he thrust out with his sword, that he did know that the poor lad who was beside him stumbled and fell, and that another took his place. They rushed on, but at length were stopped by a straggling hedge, beneath which a small orchard lay in a deep hollow. He could see the backs of the French as they were scuttling away out on the other side. Beneath the orchard trees the dead were lying on the grass, and a few scared fowls were running screaming about, flapping their wings with fear. But neither the hedge nor the dip in the ground stopped the gallant -2d; they dashed through, and rushed up the slope the opposite side. There, however, Fortune went no further with them. A fire came from a French regiment in reserve, and they had but time to re-form before the French horse were upon them.

Jack saw, for the first time, the brass helmets glittering in the sun, and the long sabres and heavy gauntlets. One man seemed to be riding straight on to him, with his sabre at the point levelled at him. Jack drew a deep breath, for the man reeled from his horse-a lucky shot had brought him down; and then the thought crossed the brave lad's mind, that perhaps, after all, he should see Sussex once more, and that the most dreadful of days might, after all, have a fortunate ending.

But the brigade returned from this charge. Jack had one look at the orchard and the farmhouse, with its quaint white gateway; it was the farm of Gemioncourt. He breathed more freely as they tramped back over the troddendown crops. They halted and took up their position. Away to the right were the 44th and 42d, who seemed to be enveloped in a swarm of Cuirassiers, which at length broke up and rode off, leaving the Highlanders still standing. Then for hours upon hours they seemed to be left inactive. Then their turn came again. Picton had formed the 28th and the Royals into one column, and had led them straight at L'Héritier's Cuirassiers. And the -2d now had to follow suit, and again went trampling through the rye to the left of the farm of Gemioncourt.

Now the field had a different aspect indeed from what it had borne but a few hours before. Among the crops the blue and red coats were lying thick, and the helmets of the Cuirassiers were scattered here and there. Away to the right the smoke was rising in curiousshaped little clouds above the trees of the wood of Bossu. The regi

ment was halted now on the summit of a gentle slope; to the left on ahead in the Namur road could be seen the roofs of a small village.

Jack looked at the chimneys, from which the thin smoke was still wreathing, although the battle was raging in all fierceness near by; for to the left the smoke had now cleared away, as there had been but little firing in that quarter.

But then, over the rye, which was now levelled with the soil, he could see a long line of light, the steel breasts of the Cuirassiers, who were coming to the attack. The men of the 2d were holding their fire until the cavalry came well within range. He looked along the line of kneeling figures in front of him. One figure was leaning forward over them, gazing intently at the nearing enemy. It was his cousin Harry. The word to fire had hardly been given when Jack saw him deliberately take aim with his pistol at the approaching squadron.

'What could that be for?' he thought. What a senseless idea!' But he thought no more on the subject, for the muskets of the front row had been levelled and a volley fired. The smoke of the burning powder nearly blinded him, and stung his eyes and seemed to cut his nostrils. Once he saw the point of a sabre quite near to him; but it was parried off. Then the Cuirassiers, unable to break the rocklike square, for a time drew off. Some of them were only a few hundred feet away. He could see the face of one of the officers quite distinctly. There could be no doubt about it-the Count d'Epinelle was there. A strange feeling came over him. Was it at the French spy that Harry had deliberately aimed? There was something strange and something wrong in the act at the same time.

So the 2d stood almost on the same spot, and held its ground until the red sunset began to glow on the woods to the right. Some