gned his sister to
her care. Descending the stairs rapidly, he leaped upon his horse, and
waving his hand to Philip, who was already mounted, they plunged along
the valley, and ascending the crest of the hill, beheld, while they
still spurred on, the vast army in motion before them, while far off in
the vanward, from time to time, the dull, heavy booming of artillery
told that the work was already begun.

CHAPTER XXI.

On the evening of the 20th July, Hunter's division, to which Harold Hare
was attached, was bivouacked on the old Braddock Road, about a mile and
a half southeast of Centreville. It was midnight. There was a strange
and solemn hush throughout the camp, broken only by the hail of the
sentinel and the occasional trampling of horses hoofs, as some
aid-de-camp galloped hastily along the line. Some of the troops were
sleeping, dreaming, perhaps, of home, and far away, for the time, from
the thought of the morrow's danger. But most were keeping vigil through
the long hours of darkness, communing with themselves or talking in low
murmurs with some comrade; for each soldier knew that the battle-hour
was at hand. Harold was stretched upon his cloak, striving in vain to
win the boon of an hour's sleep, for he was weary with the toil of the
preceding day; but he could not shut out from his brain the whirl of
excitement and suspense which that night kept so many tired fellows
wakeful when they most needed rest. It was useless to court slumber, on
the eve, perhaps, of his eternal sleep; he arose and walked about into
the night.

Standing beside the dying embers of a watchfire, wrapped in his blanket,
and gazing thoughtfully into the little drowsy flames that yet curled
about the blackened fagots, was a tall and manly form, which Harold
recognized as that of his companion in arms, a young lieutenant of his
company. He approached, and placed his hand upon his fellow-soldier's
arm.

"What book of fate are you reading in the ashes, Harry?" he asked, in a
pleasant tone, anxious to dispel some portion of his own and his
comrade's moodiness.

The soldier turned to him and smiled, but sorrowfully and with effort.

"My own destiny, perhaps," he answered. "Those ashes were glowing once
with light and warmth, and before the dawn they will be cold, as you or
I may be to-morrow, Harold."

"I thought you were too old a soldier to nurse such fancies upon the
eve of battle. I must confess that I, who am a novice in th