d one round arm, smooth and white,
lay outside the coverlet. Good God! how pure she was; how gentle, how
tender, and how friendless! and he, how selfish, brutal, and black
with crime! Heart-stained and shame-stricken, he stood at the bed's
foot and looked at the sleeping girl. How dared he--who was he, to
pray for one so spotless! God bless her! God bless her! He came to the
bedside, and looked at the hand, the little soft hand, lying asleep;
and he bent over the pillow noiselessly toward the gentle pale face.

Two fair arms closed tenderly around his neck as he stooped down. "I
am awake, George," the poor child said, with a sob fit to break the
little heart that nestled so closely by his own. She was awake, poor
soul--and to what? At that moment a bugle from the Place of Arms began
sounding clearly, and was taken up through the town; and 'midst the
drums of the infantry, and the shrill pipes of the Scotch, the whole
city awoke....

All our friends took their share and fought like men in the great
field. All day long, whilst the women were praying ten miles away, the
lines of the dauntless English infantry were receiving and repelling
the furious charges of the French horsemen. Guns which were heard at
Brussels were plowing up their ranks, and comrades falling, and the
resolute survivors closing in. Toward evening the attack of the
French, repeated and resisted so bravely, slackened in its fury. They
had other foes besides the British to engage, or were preparing for a
final onset. It came at last: the columns of the Imperial Guard
marched up the hill of Saint Jean, at length and at once to sweep the
English from the height which they had maintained all day; and spite
of all, unscared by the thunder of the artillery, which hurled death
from the English line, the dark column prest on and up the hill. It
seemed almost to crest the eminence, when it began to waver and
falter. Then it stopt, still facing the shot. Then at last the English
troops rushed from the post from which no enemy had been able to
dislodge them, and the Guard turned and fled.

No more firing was heard at Brussels--the pursuit rolled miles away.
Darkness came down on the field and city: and Amelia was praying for
George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his
heart.

III

THE DEATH OF COLONEL NEWCOME[23]

Clive, and the boy sometimes with him, used to go daily to Grey
Friars, where the colonel still lay ill. After som