ostrate forms before him.
Gaining the summit of the hill, he had an open view of the prospect
beyond. A large farm, since known to history as the _Madonna della
Scoperta_, lay before him. A high terrace facing the hill had been
converted by the enemy into a fortress, which commanded the cemetery,
and which the yagers were now pressing forward to take. The charge was
gallantly led, but after a fierce struggle, in which the assailants
exhausted their ammunition, and the engagement became a hand-to-hand
fight, the Austrians were driven back in confusion.

Manasseh's battalion was then commanded to charge the terrace, from
which the enemy's battery was dealing such deadly destruction, and to
capture and hold the _Madonna della Scoperta_. The major gave the
necessary orders, but it was to Manasseh that every eye was turned at
this critical moment. Had he but shaken his head the whole battalion
would have stood still and refused to advance a step. If he said the
word, however, his comrades would follow him, and attempt the
impossible.

Manasseh looked up at the clouded heavens above, and breathed a sigh.
The hour had come when he must bow before the iron will of destiny. He,
the apostle of peace, must plunge into the midst of bloody strife. "Thy
will be done!" he murmured, then advanced to the front of the battalion,
and turned to address his comrades.

"Forward!"

They obeyed him with alacrity, singing as they advanced, "A mighty
fortress is our God," and so began the assault.

Not a shot was fired as they pushed forward at double-quick in the face
of a murderous artillery discharge from the terrace above. Gaining the
foot of the scarp, they planted their bayonets in the earthern wall, and
so mounted the rampart, those behind helping up those in front. As they
sang the last stanza of their hymn, the _Madonna della Scoperta_ was
taken--without the firing of a single shot. The major of the battalion
was beside himself with pride and exultation. He embraced Manasseh, and
kissed him on both cheeks.

"To-morrow will see you an officer with a medal of honour on your
breast," was his confident prediction.

Manasseh smiled sadly. He knew better than the other what to expect.

Meanwhile the enemy had not given up the fight. The terrace, they
perceived, must be retaken, and a detachment of French troops was
advancing to storm it.

"Let them come on!" cried the major, confidently. "We can handle them,
ten to one. Give them