moaning of the wind and the driving of the rain. At length, however, another sound broke upon his ear. He stopped and listened, and presently he called: "Who's there?" The only answer was a moaning sound.

He called again, and this time he heard something like the crying of a child, and pretty soon an object came toward him out from the darkness. With a quick, emphatic movement he brought his musket to the charge, and ordered the intruder to halt.

66

Mercy!" exclaimed a childish voice; "don't shoot me! I am Natalie. Don't you know me?" "Heaven!" cried Jerome, elevating the muzzle of his piece. "Is it you, dear child?"

"Yes; and you are good Jerome. Oh, you will come and help mamma! Come, she is dying!"

It was certainly Natalie, a little girl only eight years old, daughter of Lisette Valiant. Lisette was the wife of Pierre Valiant, a sergeant in Jerome's own regiment, who accompanied the army as nurse.

"Why, how is this, my child?" said Jerome, taking the little one by the arm. "What is it about

your mother?"

"Oh, good Jerome, you can hear her now. Hark!"

The sentinel bent his ear, but could hear only the wind and rain. "Mamma is in the dreadful mud," said the child," and is dying. She is not far away. Oh, I can hear her crying!"

By degrees Jerome gathered from Natalie that her father had taken her out with him in the morning, and that in the evening when the storm came on her mother came after her. The sergeant had offered to send a man back to camp with his wife, but she preferred to return alone, feeling sure that she should meet with no trouble. The way,

certain, and she had lost the path and wandered off to the edge of the morass, where she had sunk into the soft mud.

"Oh, good Jerome," cried the little one, seizing the man's hand, "can't you hear her? She will die if you do not come and help her!"

At that moment the sentinel fancied he heard the wail of the unfortunte woman. What should he do? Lisette, the good, the beautiful, the tender-hearted Lisette, was in mortal danger, and it was in his power to save her. It was not in his heart to withstand the pleadings of the child. He could go and rescue the nurse and return to his post without detection. At all events he could not refuse the childish pleader.

"Give me your hand, Natalie: I'll go with you."

With a cry cf joy the child sprang to the soldier's side, and when she had secured his hand, she hurried him along toward the place where she had left her mother. It seemed a long distance to Jerome, and once he stopped as though he would turn back. He did not fear death, but he feared dishonour.

"Hark!" uttered the child.

The soldier listened, and plainly heard the voice of the suffering woman calling for help. He hesitated no longer. On he hastened through the storm, and found Lisette sunk to her armpits in the soft morass. Fortunately a tuft of long grass had been within her reach, by which means she had held her head above the fatal mud. It was no easy matter to extricate her from the miry pit, as the workman had to be very careful that he himself did not lose his footing. At length, however, she was drawn forth, and Jerome led her to his post.

"Who comes there ?" cried a voice from the gloom.

"Friends with the countersign," he answered to the last call of the new sentinel.

He was ordered to advance, and when he had given the countersign he found himself in the presence of the officer of the guard. In a few hurried words he told his story, and had the officer been alone he might have allowed the matter to rest where it was; but there were others present, and when ordered to give up his musket he obeyed without a murmur, and silently accompanied the officer to the camp, where he was put in irons.

On the following morning Jerome Dubois was brought before a courtmartial under charge of having deserted his post. He confessed that he was guilty, and then permission was granted him to tell his own story.

This he did in a few words, but the court could do nothing but pass sentence of death, but the members thereof all signed a petition praying that Jerome Dubois might be pardoned, and this petition was sent to the general of the brigade, and through him to the general of the division, by whom it was endorsed and sent up to the Marshal.

the petition and handed it lack to the officer who presented it. "I am sure the man meant no wrong, and yet a great wrong was done. He knew what he was doing-he ran the risk-he was detected-he has been tried and condemned. He must suffer!"

They asked Lefebre if he would see the condemned.

"No, no!" the Marshal cried quickly. "Should I see him and listen to one-half his story, I should pardon him, and that must not be done. Let him die, that thousands may be saved."

The time fixed for the execution of Dubois was the morning succeeding the day of his trial. The result of the interview with Marshal Lefebre was made known to him, and he was not at all disappointed. He blamed no one, and was only sorry that he had not died on the battle-field.

"I have tried to be a good soldier," he said to his captain. "I feel that I have done no crime that should leave a stain upon my name."

The captain took his hand, and assured him that his name should be held in respect.

stead. This tipped the brimming cup and his tears flowed freely. Pierre and Lisette knew not what to say. They wept and they prayed, and they would have willingly died for the noble fellow who had been thus condemned.

In an instant all was changed in that division, and the brigadiergeneral who had temporary command thundered forth his orders for the countermarch. The gloom was dissipated, and with glad hearts the soldiers turned from the thoughts of the execution of a brave comrade to thoughts of meet

"What shall we do with the prisoner ?" asked the sergeant who had charge of the guards.

"Lead him back to the camp," replied the captain.

The direction was very simple, but the execution thereof was not to be so easy, for hardly had the words escaped the captain's lips when a squadron of Prussian cavalry came dashing directly towards them. The division was quickly formed into four hollow squares, while the guard that held charge of the prisoner found themselves obliged to flee.

if the truth could not be kept back, it should be so told that the name of Jerome Dubois should not bear dishonour in the minds of those who had loved him in other days. Morning came dull and gloomy, with driving sleet and snow, and at an early hour Jerome Dubois was led forth to meet his fate. The place of execution had been fixed upon a low barren spot towards the sea, and thither his division was being marched to witness the fearful punishment. They had gained not more than half the distance when the sound of some strange commotion broke upon the wintry air, and very shortly an aide-de-camp came dashing to the side of the general of the brigade, with a cry:

A sortie! A sortie! The enemy are out in full force. Let this thing be stayed. The Marshal directs that you shall face about and advance upon the peninsula!"

a soldier!"

The sergeant quickly cut the cords that bound his elbows behind him, and then dashed towards the point where his own regiment was stationed. The rattle of musketry had commenced, and the Prussians were vainly endeavouring to break the squares of French troops. Jerome Dubois looked about him for some weapon with which to arm himself, and presently he saw a Prussian officer not far off reeling in his saddle as though he had been wounded. With a quick bound he reached the spot, pulled the dying officer from his seat, and leaped into the empty saddle.

Dubois was resolved that he would sell his life that day-sell it in behalf of France-and sell it as dearly as possible. But he was not needed where he was. He knew that the Prussians could not break those hollow squares; so he rode away,

with whom he could rush into the deepest danger. Supposing that the heaviest fighting must be upon the Nehrung, he rode his horse in that direction, and when he reached it he found that he had not been mistaken. Upon a slight eminence toward Haglesburg, the enemy had planted a battery of heavy guns, supported by two regiments of infantry, and already with shot and shell much damage had been done. Marshal Lefebre rode up shortly after this battery had been opened, and very quickly made up his mind that it must be taken at all hazards. "Take the battery," he said to a colonel of cavalry, "and the battle is ours."

Dubois heard the order and saw the necessity. Here was danger enough, surely; and, determined to be the first at the fatal battery, he kept as near to the leader as he dared. Half the distance had been gained when from the hill came a storm of iron that ploughed into the ranks of the French. The colonel fell, his body literally torn in pieces by a shell that exploded against his bosom.

The point upon the peninsula now reached by the head of the assaulting column was not more than a hundred yards wide, and it was literally a path of death, as the fire from twelve heavy guns was turned upon it. The colonel had fallen, and very soon three other officers went down, leaving the advance without a commissioned leader. The way was becoming blocked up with dead men and dead horses, and the head of the column stopped and wavered.

Marshal Lefebre from his elevated place saw this, and his heart painfully throbbed. If that column were routed and the Russian Infantry charged over the head of the peninsula, the result might be calamitous. But-see! Aman in the uniform

"For France and for Lefebre !" the strange horseman cries, waving his sword aloft and pointing toward the battery. "The Marshal will weep if we lose this day!'

The brave troopers, thus led by one who feared not to dash forward where the shot fell thickest, gave an answering shout and pressed on, caring little for the rain of death so long as they had a living leader to follow. Hoping that he might take the battery, and yet courting death, Jerome Dubois spurred on; and finally the troop came upon the battery with irresistible force.

It was not in the power of cannoniers to withstand the shock, and the Russian Infantry that came to their support were swept away like chaff. The battery was quickly captured, and when the guns had been turned upon those who had shortly before been their masters, the fortune of the day was decided. The Russians and the Prussians— horse, foot, and dragoons-such as were not taken prisoners, made the best of their way back into Dantzic, having lost much more than they gained.

Jerome Dubois returned to the guard-house, and gave himself up to the officer in charge. First a surgeon was called to dress several slight wounds which he had received. Next his colonel called to see what should be done with him. The colonel applied to the general of brigade, and the general of brigade applied to the general of division, and the general of division applied to Marshal Lefebre.

"What shall we do with Jerome Dubois?"