seemed to gather before them; he could no
longer see across the field, yet would not withdraw his gaze lest he see
the dead man at his side.

The fire of battle was not now burning very brightly in this warrior's
soul. From inaction had come introspection. He sought rather to analyze
his feelings than distinguish himself by courage and devotion. The
result was profoundly disappointing. He covered his face with his hands
and groaned aloud.

The hoarse murmur of battle grew more and more distinct upon the right;
the murmur had, indeed, become a roar, the throbbing, a thunder. The
sounds had worked round obliquely to the front; evidently the enemy's
left was being driven back, and the propitious moment to move against
the salient angle of his line would soon arrive. The silence and mystery
in front were ominous; all felt that they boded evil to the assailants.

Behind the prostrate lines sounded the hoofbeats of galloping horses;
the men turned to look. A dozen staff officers were riding to the
various brigade and regimental commanders, who had remounted. A moment
more and there was a chorus of voices, all uttering out of time the same
words--"Attention, battalion!" The men sprang to their feet and were
aligned by the company commanders. They awaited the word "forward"--
awaited, too, with beating hearts and set teeth the gusts of lead and
iron that were to smite them at their first movement in obedience to
that word. The word was not given; the tempest did not break out. The
delay was hideous, maddening! It unnerved like a respite at the
guillotine.

Captain Graffenreid stood at the head of his company, the dead man at
his feet. He heard the battle on the right--rattle and crash of
musketry, ceaseless thunder of cannon, desultory cheers of invisible
combatants. He marked ascending clouds of smoke from distant forests. He
noted the sinister silence of the forest in front. These contrasting
extremes affected the whole range of his sensibilities. The strain upon
his nervous organization was insupportable. He grew hot and cold by
turns. He panted like a dog, and then forgot to breathe until reminded
by vertigo.

Suddenly he grew calm. Glancing downward, his eyes had fallen upon his
naked sword, as he held it, point to earth. Foreshortened to his view,
it resembled somewhat, he thought, the short heavy blade of the ancient
Roman. The fancy was full of suggestion, malign, fateful, heroic!

The sergeant in the rear rank,