Chapter 48

Napoleon had commenced those daring and rapid movements, which for a time
threw the peace of the world into the scale of fortune, and which nothing
but the interposition of a ruling Providence could avert from their
threatened success. As the the ----th dragoons wheeled into a field
already deluged with English blood, on the heights of Quatre Bras, the eye
of its gallant colonel saw a friendly battalion falling beneath the sabres
of the enemy's cuirassiers. The word was passed, the column opens, the
sounds of the quivering bugle were heard for a moment above the roar of
the cannon and the shouts of the combatants; the charge, sweeping like a
whirlwind, fell heavily on those treacherous Frenchmen, who to-day had
sworn fidelity to Louis, and to-morrow intended lifting their hands in
allegiance to his rival.

"Spare my life in mercy," cried an officer, already dreadfully wounded,
who stood shrinking from the impending blow of an enraged Frenchman. An
English dragoon dashed at the cuirassier, and with one blow severed his
arm from his body.

"Thank God," sighed the wounded officer, sinking beneath the horse's feet.

His rescuer threw himself from the saddle, and raising the fallen man
inquired into his wounds. It was Pendennyss, and it was Egerton. The
wounded man groaned aloud, as he saw the face of him who had averted the
fatal blow; but it was not the hour for explanations or confessions, other
than those with which the dying soldiers endeavored to make their tardy
peace with their God.

Sir Henry was given in charge to two slightly wounded British soldiers,
and the earl remounted: the scattered troops were rallied at the sound of
the trumpet, and again and again, led by their dauntless colonel, were
seen in the thickest of the fray, with sabres drenched in blood, and
voices hoarse with the shouts of victory.

The period between the battles of Quatre Bras and Waterloo was a trying
one to the discipline and courage of the British army. The discomfited
Prussians on their flank had been routed and compelled to retire, and in
their front was an enemy, brave, skilful, and victorious, led by the
greatest captain of the age. The prudent commander of the English forces
fell back with dignity and reluctance to the field of Waterloo; here the
mighty struggle was to terminate, and the eye of every experienced soldier
looked on those eminences as on the future graves for thousands.

During this solemn interval of comparative inactivity the mind of
Pendennyss dwelt on the affection, the innocence, the beauty and worth of
his Emily, until the curdling blood, as he thought on her lot should his
life be the purchase of the coming victory, warned him to quit the gloomy
subject, for