He was smoking away at a damp cigar. He was drenched through with the rain, with mud up to the waist, and was cold and shivering, he was hungry, he was worn out; yet for all that he would not have wished himself back-not even in his old house in Sussex; not even at Chatham, nor yet at the fives-court; not even with little Hetty-well, perhaps, there might be a little doubt about that.

'Well, Jones,' he said to that honest gentleman, we have got out of it all right as yet. Where we shall be to-morrow the Lord alone knows.'

'Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof,' answered his brother subaltern.

'We're sufficiently wretched today,' broke in Captain Dobbs rather irreverently. I feel like a drowned rat.'

'I wonder if we ever shall see Brussels again?' said Jones. 'We had a good time there, hadn't we ?'

Jones was no veteran of the Peninsula; he would have in dulged in no croaking of this sort. It is a queer established superstition amongst most soldiers that the would-be Job's comforter about the future in most cases comes to grief. Let any one begin talking about sweethearts and wives and absent friends, or the blessings of happy peaceful homes, or indulging in any other romantic and useless sentiment, and the chances are that, when comes the morrow of battle, he will never again have an opportunity of indulging in the same sort of weakness.

'What a strange noise it is!' said Jack, as they stood and listened to the sound of the moving legions to the front and in their

rear.

'Hang the curious sounds!' answered the prosaic Dobbs. I'd sooner hear the noise of a cork

VOL. XXXI.

coming out of a bottle, or the carving of the toughest fowl that ever turned a knife into a stone saw.'

'Dobbs,' said Jack, 'is a beast who is always thinking of eating. Have you had enough at Brussels in the way of grand cookery and sour claret and bad champagne to last you for a year or more ?'

'I can always do my peck, like a little bird,' replied Dobbs, as he sighed deeply.

You mean like a great vulture,' replied Jones. 'You're a disgrace to the mess, and would eat all Belgium out in six weeks.'

They were chatting idly, and yawning and smoking, when a shabbily-dressed man, in a round hat, passed through the regiment, and looked curiously about him. He was joined by the gallant Colonel, who had been crowded out of the near-by farmhouse, which was filled to the ceiling with officers of all ranks and North European armies.

'They seem pretty comfortable, considering all things,' they heard him say; and there must be a good number of youngsters with them, too.'

The man with the round hat passed close to them, and asked Jack for his flint and steel. As the cigar glowed with the red light, it lit up part of the man's face. It was General Picton, and Jack raised his hand in salute. The General bowed, and passed on.

'Seems rather done up,' said Dobbs, looking at the retreating General.

'And I feel pretty done up too,' answered Jack. I think bed, or a sleep on the damp ground, the best place for all of us.'

Then they rolled themselves up in their cloaks and lay down, and tried their very best to court something like sleep. Soon all was quiet around them. Now and again the voice of a sentry could

X

be heard, but he only spoke in low tones. The French army, like their fate, lay before them; but all was darkness and uncertainty. In a sweet, gentle, melancholy thrill a thought of home and Hetty passed through Jack's mind and touched his heart. No sigh burst from his lips, but his eyes moistened; he moved on his side and breathed a silent prayer. The white streets of Brussels passed before his mind's eye in a quaint irregular panorama. Was Hetty sleeping or awake? If awake she would be praying for him, like he was for her. He moved on his side, and saw that Jones was lying near him with his feet to the smouldering fire.

'Good-night, Jack,' he said.

'Good night, old boy,' was the answer, in kind friendly tones. 'Jones is a good fellow,' he thought to himself, and soon afterwards was fast asleep.

The morning awoke; they had slept on some time past daylight, and the bells of Plancenoit and Braine l'Allend came tinkling over the sodden fields. In a hollow behind and below Jack could see the helmets of the Guards, and now and again their shoulders. Wellington had well sheltered his reserves. Far away to the rear the bivouac of a battery of artillery was still undisturbed, and the men were sleeping peacefully. In the front he could see the dark masses of the French infantry. Some of them were already moving and taking up the order of battle. Occasionally the shrill blast of a trumpet could be heard in the distance.

Those are the Polish Lancers,' said quick-eyed Jones, pointing to a number of pennons which looked like a flight of birds over the ground far away in front. Those are the Cuirassiers, too-those bits of brass over there,' continued Jones. 'I

know the regiment; there used to be an old prisoner in the hulks who used to tell me all about 'em when I gave him tobacco. They say that their horse is splendid; but I think Uxbridge has got as good as they have. I saw Shaw and Graham just now, and asked if they wouldn't like to have a spar to warm themselves.'

'Has Graham left the fivescourt long enough to have got over that lovely black eye?' asked Jack. I suppose they will all use their sabres as well as the sticks and the gloves.'

'Sure to,' answered Jones; they're all as tough as iron, and were cursing because they had got nothing but sour beer. I believe they'd grumble in their coffins. Those Guards are the most cocky set of wretches that ever rode the earth, or put on the gloves in a booth.'

A staff officer rode from the right, and came to the Colonel. The regiment formed up. The sun had come out long ago, and was glistening on the white walls of Mont St. Jean. It glistened on the leaves of the orchard trees of Hougoumont and La Haie Sainte. Napoleon had come out, and sat in his rough chair planted on the butte De Rossomme. He had calmly reviewed the position; he had marshalled his army in grand array; he had cast his eye over Cuirassiers and Lancers and young Guards and old Guards; and all was ready. He would but wait for a while until the sun had dried up the damp clay. The wheels of the guns would not then sink so deeply into the earth, and the cavalry could move with speed and precision. He would wait but a little while, and then lead that grand army on to the English and to victory.

CHAPTER XXXV.

A HALF-CALM.

HARRY HEDLEY sat and looked at his host, and then looked around the room. It was a long, low, wainscoted chamber. On the walls were a few quaint engravings of the saints. On that of Ignatius Loyola he let his eyes fall. There seemed to be a sort of fascination for him in the halfsad, inscrutable expression of the founder of the Order of Jesus. The light, coming through the windows opening on to the garden, but feebly lit up everything. The storm of thunder and lightning had ceased, but it was still raining heavily. The sound of the firing was growing less and less distinct. There was a lull in everything, and the noise of the rain falling on the leaves of the garden trees made itself heard above everything.

'You are not eating with appetite, monsieur!' said the host, in quiet courteous tones. 'Your shoulder perhaps troubles you; you are fatigued. But make the best of what the gods have given you.'

'They have given me nothing but trouble,' answered Harry Hedley, and I cannot make the best of the very worst.'

He

The cure only bowed. seemed rather to avoid making any overtures for his young guest's confidence. They went on with their meal in silence. The old woman came in and cleared the dishes away after each simple course. Not a word was spoken, and they sat in almost absolute silence. She took away the clean white cloth, and showed the wellpolished table underneath with a most complacent glance. Then she brought in some coffee. The curé sipped his with an air of quiet contentment. Impatient of the whole scene, of every one and everything, Harry Hedley at length

arose and began pacing up and down the room. He looked out of the window, and over the garden to the distant cornfields bordering the forest. The sight was gloomy enough, and he responded to it with a heavy sigh.

'You are ill at ease, my son,' said the cleric; as I said before, make the best of everything.'

'If you knew what I am, and what I have done, you would— well, you would not pity me, but I do not think you would advise me to be cheerful,' and a bitter smile passed over his face; there may be such things as conscience and remorse. You at least, sir, ought to know better than I do. If I told you my story-you do not know me-perhaps you do not care to hear it. It is no return for your kindness and hospitality to set about preaching on my own ills.' The curé put down his glass.

'If you wish me to be your confidant, if it will ease your mind in the least, by all means be it so.'

Seated in the window-seat, then, with his back slightly turned to his visitor, Harry Hedley told his story. He told of his visiting his cousin's room knife in hand, of his taking the money of D'Epinelle, of his firing at the Frenchman in cold blood on the field of Quatre Bras, of his feigning to be wounded worse than he was, owing to his fear of the exposure which he was certain had arrived. It was a curious recital. His listener sat with his hands under his chin. He never once interrupted; once or twice he moved in his chair, but that was all. When Harry Hedley had finished he stood up and folded his hands behind him.

Do you think,' asked Harry Hedley, that I am more a madman than a villain, or that I am both? Knaves are fools, they say; why not alter the saying, villains are madmen ?'

'It is a black story,' answered the cleric, but you have your punishment even now. You are suspected of treachery. You have deserted; you are disgraced, and can never see your own country again. That you are not of my faith matters little to me. Yes,' -here he paused and stroked his chin, 'you are worthy of some sort of pity. Yours is a strange weak nature, a poor weak nature. Rest with me here for the present. You have eaten at my table; I must protect you. I can say no more now;' and the old man passed out of the room, leaving Harry Hedley standing by the window.

It was a busy scene on the road from Antwerp to Brussels. It was more busy than pleasant. That general exodus or stampede from the Belgian capital had some very curious results. Possibly there never was a time when such prices were paid for coach-hire in the whole history of the world. Peasants and townsfolk made a brilliant harvest out of the gallant British, who rushed away to catch the Antwerp and Ostend packets. Middle class respectability with money to spend contented itself with a rough filthy cart, and did not grumble at the price paid for it, but only at the Flemish cattle, which neither whips nor oaths could make go at over three miles an hour. Plump and haughty citizens, well known on "Change,' had to descend from their mud-clad vehicles to refresh themselves with what could be had at the filthiest roadside cabarets. They had to endure the scent of onions, sour beer and cheese, and to make the best of it. They had to sit on greasy wooden benches in little dark rooms, which made up for want of light by want of cleanliness.

'An ounce of civet' seemed to be written on every British face

at least every British face which had fled from Brussels.

Never was before seen in Antwerp such a collection of gloomy faces. And among these were Parson Heneage and his daughter, who were waiting for the wind and the packet to take them over to Harwich.

He

They were staying at a great gaunt hotel in the 'Meer.' The young lady was rapidly growing very peevish and fretful. Her father's fear of everything sat so badly on him that he looked as if he had seen a ghost or been refused a tithe every five minutes. had had to fly from Brussels in a peasant's cart, with some bundles of onions and a freshly-slaughtered sheep to keep himself and his daughter company. He, the oracle of his parish, the envy of halfstarved curates; he who had almost the money and the dignity of a squire proper, embellished by the odour of sanctity of a rural dean-to think that he should have had to submit to such an indignity! Perhaps, at the same time, he had a lurking feeling that he had showed the white feather before his daughter. Her very presence seemed to be annoying to him. Yet Miss Minnie Heneage had been no more courageous than her fond and loving parent.

'To think,' she said, 'that we have bought next to nothing to take home from Brussels! I haven't a yard of lace with me. When we get back to Sussex I shall be the laughing-stock of the whole place.'

At this Mr. Heneage did not seem to be particularly grieved. It might be a misfortune to his daughter, but at the same time was rather advantageous to the state of his purse. Fathers, even when they are devotedly attached to their daughters, do not, as a rule, weep tears of mortification when their children, by cruel accidents,

are debarred from purchasing expensive millinery.

'My dear,' he answered, we must trust to Providence.'

'But I wanted the lace,' replied his daughter, pouting angrily.

'My dear, we have our lives,' said Mr. Heneage, with all the pleasing self complacency arising from his having, apparently, been saved the expenditure of some twenty pounds.

'I want my life and the lace too,' continued Miss Heneage. 'I believe that the Dawsons will be safe enough in Brussels. I expect Hetty is buying lots of things now. Her father is a weak-hearted old creature, who would humour her in everything.'

'Be thankful, my dear,' replied the worthy clergyman, that you have a parent who can guide you properly, and to whom you submit with proper respect.'

To this the young lady only made answer by curling her upper lip. Respect for her seniors was not, perhaps, to be numbered with her very best moral qualities.

'The packet will not start for some hours,' said her father; ‘let us stroll around the grand old city.'

'Bother the grand old city!' answered Miss Heneage, forgetful of all good breeding.

'Very well, my dear; although you are so discourteous, let us go and see the great picture by Rubens in the cathedral.'

'I do not care for great pictures. I hate the place, and everything and every one. Why had we to leave Brussels ?'

'My dear, it is not likely they would stop fighting on our account. I wonder how the young Hedleys are getting on?'

'I don't know, and I don't care,' replied the very undutiful daughter; the one is stupid and the other has no money. What are they to us?'

'You are in a bad humour, my dear,' said Mr. Heneage. I shall leave you, and take a walk by myself;' and the gentleman took up his hat and cane, and made his way down into the broad street or place.

He wandered into the cathedral, for he was not such a bigoted Protestant that any over-conscientious scruples would prevent him from enjoying himself. Mass was being performed in one of the chapels, and women were grouped about the building, kneeling on the old prie-dieu chairs. The organ was pealing, and the person listened and looked at everything with a pleasant feeling of artistic and professional sympathy. He clasped his hands behind his back and enjoyed it all thoroughly.

He knew that he was safe and would be over in Sussex in a couple of days, so that he could indulge in the luxury of the picturesque to his heart's content. He looked at that flaring composition which is popularly miscalled Rubens' masterpiece, and took in every detail of it in proper dilettante fashion.

'I wish we could have more of this sort of thing in England,' thought he. Meaning that he wished that he might be the head and chief of some mighty Church Establishment, where he should be the Grand Llarna, and where all local clerical nonentities should be compelled to fall down and worship him, and to do his bidding.

Three hours after, the father and daughter were on the deck of the small sloop which was bound for the North Sea. They watched the spire of Antwerp fading away in the distance. They looked at the broad stream, over which the seagulls were skimming; and they gazed on the great level plains, dotted here and there with groups of black and white cattle. Already some of the passengers were begin