e and flashes of fire were seen.

"Steady, men; load and fire!"

The command was given by Lord Howe. It was the last he ever spoke.
The wood rang with the crossfire of the foes who could not see each
other. Fritz had discharged his piece, and was loading again when
he saw Lord Howe suddenly throw up his hands and fall helplessly
forward.

He sprang to his side with a cry of dismay. He strove to hold him
up and support him to some place of safety, but could only lay him
down beneath a tree hard by, where a ring of Rangers instantly
formed around him, whilst the skirmish in the forest was hotly
maintained on both sides.

"He is shot through the heart!" cried Stark, in a lamentable voice,
as he hastily examined the wound; and indeed the shadow of death
had fallen upon the brave, bright, noble face of the young officer.

Just once the heavy lids lifted themselves. Lord Howe looked into
the faces of the two men bending over him, and a faint smile curved
his lips.

"Keep them steady," he just managed to whisper, and the next moment
his head fell back against Fritz's shoulder. He had passed into the
unknown land where the clamour of battle is no more heard.

It was a terrible blow, and consternation spread through the ranks
as it became known. Indeed, but for the Rangers, a panic and flight
would probably have followed. But Rogers, Stark, and Fritz were of
sterner stuff than the levies, and more seasoned than the bulk of
regular soldiers.

Rogers had returned instantly upon hearing the firing, and had
discharged a brisk volley upon the French as he dashed through
their ranks to regain his companions. Caught between two fires,
they were in no small peril, and made a dash for the riverbed; the
Rangers standing steady and driving them to their destruction,
whilst the ranks had time to recover themselves and maintain their
ground.

The rout of this body of French soldiers was complete, whilst the
English loss was small numerically; but the loss of Howe was
irreparable, and all heart and hope seemed taken out of the gallant
army which had started forth so full of hope. There was nothing now
to be done but to fall back upon the main army, with the sorrowful
tidings of their leader's death, and await the order of General
Abercromby as to the next move.

This was done, and the men were kept under arms all night, waiting
for orders which never came. Indecision and procrastination again
prevailed, and were again the undoi